While I Breathe, I Hope
by Le Creationist
Summary: [Post-Spectre] [Gareth Mallory (M)/Rosalind Myers] Inspired by the scene where Moneypenny and Q interrupt M's dinner in Spectre. After Blofeld's capture, M finds himself reflecting on the recent past and encounters an old friend. A crossover romance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I saw Spectre yesterday and was deeply affected by the scene where M is eating alone at a restaurant. The blank look on his face before Moneypenny and Q swoop in was so sad. As a big fan of the series Spooks (MI-5 in America), I couldn't help forming headcanons about Gareth Mallory and senior MI5 officer Ros Myers being old (slightly more than) friends. At some point, I intend to write more to flesh out the backstory to explain their dynamic in this fic.

For those unfamiliar with the character Rosalind Myers from Spooks, she is a former MI-6 intelligence officer who was seconded to MI5 counterintelligence. She is sharp-witted and not one to be taken for a fool, but ultimately loyal to her colleagues. I think she'd be a compelling match for Gareth Mallory.

* * *

 _Bullfight critics ranked in rows_

 _Crowd the enormous Plaza full;_

 _But he's the only one who knows-_

 _And he's the man who fights the bull._

-Domingo Ortega

It was an uncommon thing to enjoy a meal in silence at the restaurant not too far from his flat. Far better, he mused, to be here rather than try to ignore the silence of his empty home. The hum of conversation from other tables was enough to quieten his churning mind.

It was easier than he expected to be invisible as M. As a politician, he'd faced his share of media intrusion in his life. He'd been harassed by protesters and political opponents alike throughout his time as a civil servant. As head of MI6, he kept a much lower profile. He supposed he was less interesting than his predecessor. Gareth Mallory appeared to be an unassuming middle-aged man without vices or dirty laundry to air, and this was enough to divert unwanted attention from the press toward more salacious targets. If ever there was a requisite characteristic for the country's top spook, wasn't it the ability to hide in plain sight?

His hands shook slightly as he sliced into his steak. The events of the past few months were catching up to him. The fact that he somehow kept his job and that the 00 program remained intact astounded him. He wouldn't have dared predict this outcome before discovering Max Denbigh's treachery. It sickened him to remember his part in Denbigh's death no matter how complicit the younger man was in Spectre's crimes. He stared balefully at his food, his appetite nonexistent.

He remembered all too well the conversation in Denbigh's sleek office after the Nine Eyes vote in Tokyo. Human intelligence. The gathering of facts, the analysis and interpretation, and the calculated actions taken from it-all of it was vital to their trade. The tech was always a means to an end, not the end in itself. What fragile system of checks and balances existed in the traditional sense would surely perish given the undiluted power Nine Eyes bestowed. He stood by his conviction, even if his younger, more savvy counterparts would condemn him as a relic for doing so.

 _'Have you ever killed a man? You have to look him in the eye, and be sure. All the drones, bugs, and surveillance in the world can't tell you what to do.'_

He was indeed certain as he watched Denbigh plummet to his death. That sort of primitive justice was as burdensome as it was viciously satisfying. It was a side of himself he didn't care to indulge. Politics and intelligence at his clearance level insulated him from the violence he'd faced as a military officer. There was no denying that the encounter stirred memories of his army days. It slipped through his mental defences, a cold and somber reminder of his past. He closed his eyes tightly and was glad that he chose the seat facing the wood-panelled wall.

The restaurant door opened and cold air immediately blew in as someone entered. He sighed. He supposed the rare solitude couldn't last forever and resigned himself to finishing his supper and going home soon after. A quiet rustling at his side startled him out of his thoughts. His eyes flew open when a woman spoke at a distance far closer than anticipated.

"A meal alone does not a celebration make." Her familiar lilt affected him more than he cared to admit. The thrill of recognition warred with disbelief as he turned toward her. The restaurant's dull interior seemed to sharpen into focus as he took in her presence. She lowered herself onto the wooden chair from the adjacent table and moved it close in one smooth movement. Her poise was impeccable as always.

"And what should I be celebrating?" Gareth kept his tone equally light. He set down his fork and knife and sat up in his chair.

"I heard news of an arrest you made on behalf of Her Majesty's government. After the end of a rather spectacular helicopter accident on the Westminster bridge." Of course Rosalind Myers was tuned into that stream of information, no matter where she may have been in the world. Last he'd heard, she'd taken on a covert assignment in Russia. The sight of her here made him wonder if perhaps he'd gone mad or if his wine was laced with something to tamper with his faculties.

He shrugged despite his racing pulse, glancing down at the table. "You know very well who was responsible for the preceding mayhem." He then made to examine the mundane items scattered about the white tablecloth, the flickering candle and the wilting flower in the small vase next to it. After a moment he looked up and met her gaze again.

The annoyance in his remark prompted her to laugh softly. She had enough in common with her former colleague to appreciate the humour above all else. "Bond never ceases to disappoint. The fact of the matter is that under your leadership in a very challenging time, a terrible player is now off the grid."

His throat swelled with sudden emotion. Had it really been three years? In their profession, three years could feel like three decades. Her blonde hair was shorter than he remembered. She still looked like she was cut from marble, striking and cold, yet the warmth in her eyes shone past that. She was dangerous in more ways than one; he would not be deceived into thinking anything else. He studied the new lines on her face, her forehead and at the corners of her mouth. It went without saying that her stress levels on the job contributed to them. Even so, the years were far kinder to her than to him.

"Cutting off the head of the beast is one thing, dealing with what remains is another. You know this." He shifted in his seat, seized by the need to do something other than stare at her like a fool. His words applied to Spectre as well as the combined British Security Services-all massive organizations left reeling in the messy aftermath.

"So humble," Rosalind murmured. She rested her right arm on the table as she leaned in slightly. He wondered if she'd let him enfold her slim hand in his. If three years without contact was an acceptable amount of time for such a public display. Before he could become dismayed by his indecisiveness, Rosalind surprised him by clasping his hands in hers.

"I've been promoted to Chief of Section D. Counterterrorism. It's mine." She told him. Immense pride on her behalf filled him but he also knew that trite words of congratulations would irritate her. He simply turned his palms upward and pressed them into hers.

"Are you certain you'll be able to resist the call back into the field?"

Rosalind's eyes were lovely in the dim light. He expected her to smirk or to retort with the sort of snappy banter that usually defined their interactions. He realized their personal acquaintance spanned nearly two decades, their professional just a few years more than that. She did neither of those things. Instead, she let go of his hands and leaned forward over the table, his forgotten food and utensils, his pair of mobiles next to the wilting flower and candle. The earlier thrill he felt morphed into something so bright inside of him it almost hurt. Rosalind placed her hands over his cheeks, covering the small cuts from falling shards of glass during the fight with Denbigh. He found himself uncaring of who was watching. Let the world be damned.

"I've never been more certain in my life," She whispered against his lips. "I'm home, Gareth."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

" _There is no art to find the mind's construction in the face."_

-Macbeth

* * *

1995 (20 years earlier)

The blustery weather outside had nothing on the current ambience of the Committee for Intelligence and Security. Gareth Mallory was a newly elected MP and a fresh face on a fledgling parliamentary committee, and the only member with previous military experience. He learned procedural matters through sheer diligence. What he hadn't yet learned was how to redirect a toxic line of questioning for the benefit of both the long-suffering witness and his fellow MPs.

The chairman of the committee Alain Deacon, MP and Marquess of Exeter, had embarked on exactly that. A vein throbbed somewhere in Mallory's forehead as question after question tumbled from Deacon's lips. Interrupting him would be a ghastly breach of decorum. Mallory surmised that at least one of his colleagues was perhaps a minute or two away from doing it.

MI6's representative at this hearing was a senior officer of the 00 program. 002, or his less commonly known name of Jack Colville, was a commendably patient witness. He was there to be held accountable for a recent operation in Kenya during which extraordinary measures were employed. Gareth was of the mindset that should the situation call for it, such measures were acceptable but the service was under fire. Legality mattered so much more, ever since the public acknowledgement of MI6's existence just last year. More than one seat was at stake if these MPs didn't appear to pummel 6 hard enough.

"All due respect, sir, have you ever served in a theatre of war?" A woman's voice rang out, shockingly clear yet unaided by the mic. It had the effect of a gunshot silencing the room as every pair of eyes sought the source. His colleagues on the panel all straightened up at the pointed question. Gareth himself raised an eyebrow. The woman sat at 002's side, dressed in a sharp suit. Her blonde hair was twisted back out of her face which made it impossible to ignore her disdainful expression. Gareth knew she was deeply offended. She hadn't been formally introduced to the committee so he could only guess at her identity.

Heedless of the reaction she'd begun to court, the woman pressed on. "Have any of you ever put yourself in high risk situations for the greater good? Other than campaign stops on your reelections." There was no mistaking the sarcasm in her icy tone. Gareth watched 002 surreptitiously hide a smirk behind his hand.

"Ms. Myers, spare us the histrionics-" The marquess attempted to silence the witness but she was having none of it. Gareth tried not to wince as he saw her expression go flat. His instincts told him she was about to verbally flay his colleague alive.

"Mr. Deacon, you of all people should appreciate the necessity of extreme measures. Wasn't it just recently that a young family was taken hostage while holidaying in Kenya? A family from _your_ constituency. And wasn't it a team from 6 that produced the intel which made it possible to rescue them? We lost an officer in the gunfight that day. You may not have realized this as there were no news, no inquiries, no publicity."

By this point, the other MPs at the high table seemed to have realised there was no stopping her.

"While that family is now back, safe at home in Stoke Newington, another family grieves the loss of a father. He was a faceless intelligence officer who put his fellow citizens' lives above his own and lost his life in the line of duty. He and countless others would thank you not to strip the security services of the ability to maneuver outside established parameters if need be. Reprimand us if you please. But the moment you so much as think of recommending budget cuts for any of the agencies, rest assured that no skeleton in your closet will go unearthed."

Deacon abruptly brought the committee hearing to an end. Ms. Myers and her superior Jack Colville rose from the witness table in tandem. Gareth was amused at the chairman's indignation as the words " _waste of bloody time"_ filtered their direction. Colville didn't look as though he were chastising his subordinate. It seemed Colville endorsed his protégée even if she'd essentially just spat in the face of the Intelligence and Security chairman.

The majority of the room had cleared out by the time the marquess snapped out of his shock. Gareth quickly schooled his features into indifference as he faced his chairman.

"She should count herself damn lucky she's so protected." Deacon rose to don his overcoat, grumbling as he adjusted the lapels. Gareth followed his lead and slid into his own coat, just then the windows rattled from the force of the storm outside. The rain beat steadily against the glass. It was still not loud enough to distort Deacon's words.

"How do you mean?"

The marquess paused before closing his briefcase. "Her father is Sir Jocelyn Myers. Any move against his daughter Rosalind and the man wouldn't hesitate to hit below the belt." He replied grudgingly. "This committee doesn't have that kind of political capital to spare yet."

The name caught Gareth's notice at once. Myers had been a substantial donor to Gareth's first campaign in '92 and was a very influential figure in the business world. Myers himself had been a political figure, a career diplomat for the better part of thirty years before he transitioned to the private sector.

"She obviously is unafraid to burn bridges." Gareth said.

"I daresay she'll soon learn that daddy won't always be there after she does."

The marquess's parting words were ominous indeed. Gareth could not forget those flashing eyes, nor the deadly authority with which Rosalind Myers made her case.

* * *

The regulatory committee was as toothless as Mallory predicted it would be. Legitimacy took time to build. Intelligence and Security was in its infancy, and it was mercilessly gutted by one petite intelligence officer. He found his life in public service to be rewarding as it was frustrating. There hadn't been anything quite like _that_ hearing for some time. The days raced past in flurries of votes and briefings, events involving shaking hands, kissing babies, ribbon-cuttings and the like.

The House of Commons recessed for Christmas, allowing him to spend time with his family. Elaine humoured his desire to stay indoors for far longer than was socially acceptable. He'd had enough of the world and needed to recoup. The IRA's actions, economic turmoil in Asia, recession in the new Russia...Gareth knew what he was in for when he entered Parliament but every so often, he felt as though he'd explode from the amount of information he had to retain.

"You can't beg out of this one, mate." Elaine said gleefully. She glowed at the prospect of attending the holiday gala that evening. He admired the way her red satin skimmed her figure as she primped at the mirror. The way she tilted her head as she fastened her earrings beckoned his lips to the soft flesh of her nape, exposed by the way she'd arranged her long dark hair.

"Is there any possibility we might stay in? It's not too late to cancel." He mumbled against her skin. He felt her chuckle and knew he was beat.

"Not a chance. Besides, you're already cutting a nice dash. We definitely can't let the invitation go to _waste_." Elaine leaned back into her husband's embrace, studying them both in the mirror before them.

 _Bloody waste of time._ A month had gone by and still he occasionally recalled that fantastic display. Elaine raised a questioning glance up to their reflections as she moved to place her hands over his at her waist. It seemed that the decision was quite out of his hands now. They departed their home at half past eight to arrive at Somerset House on time. The party was beautifully organized and unabashedly extravagant.

He and Elaine made their rounds after dinner, greeting those of the glitterati and political set with whom they were friendly. Gareth found this part of his job disingenuous at best, enormously vapid at worst. Elaine took the lead some of the time, which he appreciated. His wife thrived in the social events that their lifestyle now rendered them privy too. He knew this was good for the sake of building connections and tried to pretend he was engaging in collection of useful facts. Facts to be dissected and analysed later.

"Mr. Mallory, I'm glad you are able to join us this evening," Jocelyn Myers strode briskly toward him. He seemed to part the sea of people around him with effortless ease. His tuxedo fit him down to the very seam. The man extended his hand and Gareth shook it cordially, belatedly realizing that Myers was, in actual fact, one of the hosts of this event.

"My wife, Elaine." Gareth said by way of introduction, and Myers charmingly raised her hand toward his lips without quite kissing it. Elaine took Gareth's arm, pressing slightly into his side. Myers discomfited her, he realised, and he pressed back reassuringly.

"Thank you for inviting us. This is really quite something." Gareth felt like a dolt with his simple observation. It didn't seem to gall the other man. The string quartet in the corner of the room did an excellent job in taking advantage of the hall's acoustics. Strains of traditional Christmas music lent an air of festive elegance to it all.

"I hope you're not here to launch an investigation, Mr. Mallory."

He froze for just a moment. Elaine felt it too. She tried valiantly to keep the smile on her face from looking more confused than sociable. Rosalind Myers came to stand at her father's side, their resemblance blatant at this proximity.

"I thought I'd lay off tonight. I'm feeling charitable this Christmas season." He joked smoothly.

"I heard about that fiasco," Sir Jocelyn said. "From what Ros mentioned, you were the only member who kept their head throughout the proceedings."

"High praise indeed." Elaine chimed in with a laugh.

Gareth waited with baited breath for Rosalind's response. She wore black, a stark difference compared to those wearing more seasonal colours. Her face was again left free for anyone to scrutinise since her hair was slicked back into a chignon.

When no one spoke and the silence began to grow strained, Sir Jocelyn stepped forward and offered to fetch champagne for everyone. Elaine agreed to accompany him, leaving Gareth alone with she who seemed to occupy his thoughts with embarrassing frequency.

"I do hope your first committee hasn't completely put you off public service. I do like a proper fight, but that felt like stealing candy from babies." The edge he'd remembered in her tone was nowhere to be found tonight. Rosalind looked relaxed. This was somewhat her turf.

"I must admit I enjoyed it. Certainly broke up the monotony. And you had very valid points."

"It's...gratifying there's at least one member who can empathise."

He looked away then, shrugging one shoulder. They were both bound by the Official Secrets Act. Technically, the committee proceedings were under strict confidentiality rules and he knew she wouldn't directly reference her job nor what was discussed. This left him at a loss as to what to say next. Her gaze was unwavering. It unsettled him more than it ought to have.

"Anyway, I'm so looking forward to the new year. New beginnings and all that. I have it on good word that I may be travelling soon to South America. Peru, specifically." She crossed her arms and cocked her head just so, as if the meaning of her statement should resonate with him.

"What's this about Peru?" Suddenly, Elaine and Sir Jocelyn were back, each handing flutes of champagne to their respective people. Relief coursed inexplicably through him at the buffers his wife and Sir Jocelyn provided. He knew that a professional of Rosalind's calibre could sense it. It was only a matter of time before she'd try exploiting it.

"I'll be taking a business trip quite soon." Ros clarified for his wife. She raised her glass and waited for everyone to follow suit. "To new adventures."

The four of them clinked their glasses and drank as the quartet played on.

The good tidings of the new year hadn't lasted six weeks. February saw a series of IRA bombings in London and Parliament scrambled to consider piece after piece of national security legislation. The Intelligence and Security committee convened almost weekly to offer up reports and advise the Prime Minister, which meant that Gareth spent more time in the office than at home. Elaine saw neither hide nor hair of him some days, but she understood how truly serious the situation was. The IRA was a sore spot for him on a personal level, and he'd be buggered before he neglected his due diligence.

This was why he was blindsided by the announcement that the committee was sending its most junior members on a fact-finding mission to Peru.

"To bolster UK's relations with Peru." Deacon said offhandedly, passing around copies of the memo enumerating the trip's itinerary and attendees. Gareth sat back in disbelief, raising the sheet of paper close so he could read it.

 **MEMO**

 _EYES ONLY_

 _16 February 1996 - 23 February 2015_

 _The Rt. Honorable Theodore McTaggart MP_

 _The Rt. Honorable Martha Nelson MP_

 _The Rt. Honorable Sir John Valls MP_

 _The Rt. Honorable Gareth Mallory MP_

Gareth scanned the document further and it took everything in his power not to bark in exasperated laughter. A singular name among the list of the trip's accompanying security detail had confirmed what he suspected after that ambiguous chat about South America at the Somerset House Christmas party.

 _Ms. Rosalind Myers, MI-6_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

" _En un carro de olvido,_

 _antes del aclarar,_

 _de una estación del tiempo,_

 _decidido a rodar."_

-Violeta Parra

( "In a car of oblivion, before dawn broke.

In a train station, he decided to go.")

* * *

1996

The upside to being forced into a fact-finding mission that seemed otherwise irrelevant was the change of weather. Lima was a hidden gem among the South American capitals and from what Gareth had been told, February in Peru was the tail-end of their summer. He carefully packed his lighter suits and some casual attire appropriate for the more rugged parts of the trip as Elaine observed his progress.

She sat against the headboard of their bed, clutching a steaming mug of tea. He wondered if his ability to pack for himself without her explicit guidance was some kind of domestic test he hadn't yet been subjected to in their four years of marriage. After he tucked the last of his socks into the suitcase, he saw her giggle into her tea.

"Sorry," Elaine said, "You just looked _so_ disgruntled. As if the socks were responsible for organising this venture."

Gareth took a breath and tried to exhale some of the tension away. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have at least asked if spouses were allowed to come as well. Other committees with travelling privileges allow it."

Elaine waved one hand in dismissal. "It's a busy time at the gallery now. I can't afford to leave anyway."

Gareth made a quiet noise of commiseration, only causing his wife to laugh again. He closed his suitcase, zipped it up and collapsed onto the mattress beside her. Elaine yelped as some of her tea sloshed at the sudden motion and she had to set the mug down on the bedside table before he could do any more damage.

"Sorry, dear." Gareth wondered how many more times he'd have to apologise to her, for late nights at the office, last minute work trips and accidentally spilt tea. Her reservoir of forgiveness seemed to be unending. He knew better. To his chagrin, she leaned down and chastely kissed him. Her long hair fell forward to brush his cheeks at the motion. He admired the way she never hid her emotions from him, the way he could read her even without her speaking.

And just like that, the cosiness of the moment was chased away by the insistent ringing of his mobile. Gareth grimaced but it was too late-Elaine shifted away and lay on her side. She looked mildly irked as she said, "Well go on then."

He reached for the phone, wishing he could chuck it out the window instead. It was a staff member from the Foreign Office with information he'd asked for regarding current Peruvian defence contracts with the UK. Gareth wanted to go in with pertinent knowledge of the issues in his policy area of expertise. South America wasn't exactly his forte, other than what he'd been forced to learn about Argentina for obvious reasons. He wondered if the Argentinians got wind of a UK parliamentary trip to Peru, it'd result in any tension. The Falklands debacle was resolved in '89, at least officially, but it went without saying that it'd take far longer to restore de facto goodwill between Britain and Argentina.

"No, no, this is a good start. You've been enormously helpful, Claire. Thank you. See you soon." Gareth tucked his phone into his trouser pocket and moved his suitcase from the bed to the floor. He stared at it, this physical confirmation that he was about to leave no matter how much he didn't want to. Elaine must have known how he felt. She sat up and scooted toward him, leaning forward at the edge of the bed to grasp his shoulders.

"Why are you dreading this so much?"

He couldn't immediately answer. It should have been that the committee with a vulnerable reputation was wasting taxpayer money on frivolous travel expenses. Or that the MP's recesses were better spent doing outreach to their constituencies, and that the trip's purpose was more in line with the Foreign Office's directive than Parliament's. The honest truth was, he didn't know.

 _Bloody waste of time._ Gareth ran a hand over his face and tried to put those words out of his head. He wagered he'd be hearing a lot of that particular woman's voice in the days to come. It didn't need to start before it was absolutely necessary.

"Alright, come on. Let me drive you to the airport." Elaine slid off the bed and took a final swig of tea from her mug on the table. She moved efficiently, slipping into her thick cable knit sweater and grabbing her purse off the top of her dresser. Gareth followed her, suitcase in tow.

Their farewell was a rather hurried one as he hopped out and took his bags from the boot of the car.

"Bring me something back, if you can." She said with a smile. He kissed her on the cheek and stepped up onto the sidewalk as she rolled the car window back up. He watched Elaine drive away before steeling himself and proceeding in to find the rest of his group. Once all of their luggage was taken care of, it was smooth sailing. He spoke politely with his fellow MPs, comparing the different issues each of them took care to revise on. It was almost naively earnest how each of them agreed to take on certain policy areas for the trip. He was glad that he'd been sent with a good batch of people at the very least.

His pleasant mood came to a stuttering halt when the security detail arrived to tell them they finished their sweep of the plane. The names of the other two officers came to mind, and he repeated them back as they exchanged greetings and handshakes. The two men and one woman were likely all in their late twenties.

"A pleasure to see you, Mr. Mallory." Rosalind Myers's hand was cool in his. He smiled but he knew it didn't reach his eyes. At once, he knew the reason for his previous inexplicable dread.

"Likewise." He murmured. Their hands came apart and she moved on to speak with the others. He observed the reactions on his colleagues' faces, wondering if they remembered this unapologetic upstart from the hearing months ago. If there was any remaining bad blood, it didn't show. Maybe they realised their safety in the near future was largely dependent on this woman. His own was too.

Rules were explained perfunctorily by the lead officer, a man by the name of David Andrews, who was so clearly ex-military that it was almost comical. None of the MPs were to go off by themselves without their security escorts, they were to always use their secure phones to make international calls, mostly common sense things that they all already adhered to.

Before he knew it, they boarded the plane and filed into their business class seats. Takeoff was smooth and it wasn't long before they were allowed to unbuckle their seat belts, stand, walk, stretch. They had one stop in Madrid and then they were on their way to Lima. Gareth brought some unclassified work with him, mostly legislative research involving data regarding health statistics within his constituency. He read until his vision began to blur with the percentages, charts and hospital names on the pages. He removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

Some of the others were dozing off, trying to rest as much as they could since their schedule was unforgiving the moment they touched down. They had a few more hours remaining of the eleven it took from Madrid to Peru. Time felt as though it slowed to a crawl. He had no further motivation to trawl through the documents he took with him, but the alternative was to make small talk with whoever was still awake. Sleep never came easily to him while in the air.

He glanced around the cabin. The main lights were dimmed. He reached up to shut off his reading light. When he sat back down, he saw Rosalind approach. She took a seat, uninvited, in the one directly across him. There were no signs of sleep on her face or sluggishness in her demeanor.

"It's reassuring how industrious you are. Even when you don't have to be." Her low tones were strangely soothing. She crossed her denim-clad legs and made herself comfortable. She was wearing black again, a simple long-sleeved shirt that accentuated her lines.

"You can take me out of the army, but you can't take the army out of me, I suppose."

"True discipline is a rare virtue."

His knee-jerk reflex to shrug off a compliment was strong, yet coming from her, he sensed it was something she seldom did. He could definitely believe that. He inclined his head in thanks. It was strange considering how often his thoughts were drawn to her, how little he actually had to say now that she was here in front of him.

"Peru is at quite a fascinating the places to be carted off to, it's not the worst." She mused as she studied her fingernails. She sounded pensive. It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't the only one with misgivings. "President Alberto Fujimori won his second election last year and is more popular than ever with the people. We'll see how long the glow lasts. His majority in congress just issued pardons for all members of the Peruvian military for human rights violations in the eighties."

He perked up at that. "Fujimori is-"

"First generation Peruvian, of Japanese descent, educated in Peru, France and the States. Serving his second term in office at the height of his power."

"He's done impressive work in weakening Shining Path." Gareth said. "Unfortunately at the expense of some innocent lives. It appears to be one of the worst kept secrets."

Rosalind looked him in the eye. "Extreme measures. For the greater good. If one can't make those kinds of judgments when they're needed, they shouldn't be in this business."

"...Part of the reason why I didn't raise objections with your statement."

"Because you _have_ made those decisions. I can tell just by looking at you, sir. Even if I hadn't read your bio."

He felt his cheeks heat up at the idea that she'd taken care to read about his background. There was still enough light in the cabin for her to see him blush if she looked. She did. He scolded himself that of course she would have, as it was part of her job. She probably read all of the others' backgrounds too. Yet nothing he tried to convince himself of could get rid the colour in his face.

"Statues will be raised in our honor one day, or we'll go to prison. I'm hoping it'll be the former rather than the latter." He said. Nothing like gallows humour as a diversion tactic. Rosalind snorted in reply but made no further comment. She simply sat a bit deeper the chair and stared out the window into the darkness. He exhaled roughly and wondered if he should try to sleep.

"Ros, there are some logistics we need to review…" David said from the next row over. None of the MPs stirred at the slightly louder volume. Ros was out of the chair ready to get to work as though she hadn't just been relaxing. She sat down with her back toward him, but he could still hear her. She and her fellow officers pored over the first few events on the itinerary; locations, things to note, the government officials who'd be present…

The next thing he knew, he was being gently shaken awake by Martha Nelson, who then told him they'd just landed. He didn't even remember falling asleep, much less the last time he slept so deeply on a plane. What he did remember was listening to the smooth cadence of Rosalind's voice as she went over the security plan in the periphery, just before he drifted off.

* * *

Dinner on the first night of the trip was at a humble restaurant called Punto Azul. They were served traditional Peruvian fare that was so delicious that Gareth was sure the more portly MPs would fall into a food coma after they finished. He was a man of simple tastes, but he especially liked the scallops baked in parmesan cheese and the seafood ceviche.

The group dined with the city leadership, Lima's mayor and the federal representative for the district that included the city. They spoke impeccable English, as none of their group were proficient in Spanish, and the discussion mostly focused on local issues. There was a surprising amount that each of the elected officials had in common in terms of problems their constituencies faced and the kinds of solutions they'd implemented. Gareth reflected that this was exactly the kind of exchange that the trip aimed to facilitate.

Rosalind, David and Sam did not eat with them. Sam maintained watch outside the room that the restaurant reserved expressly for them while Rosalind and David stayed with the group. Gareth did not feel like they were in danger thus far, but they were currently in one of the more affluent parts of Lima called Miraflores.

"Sendero Luminoso has strong presence on the outskirts of the city. Our law enforcement has made significant gains and kept them from detonating bombs en el centro as they used to. We still have much to accomplish, however." said the Mayor, a kind man of middling stature who could people at ease within seconds of meeting him.

Gareth sympathised greatly. They each, as countries, had their struggles with violent insurgent organisations. He knew best the human cost that these conflicts incurred for all sides. From the looks on the Peruvians' faces, so did they.

The dinner concluded warmly and they were driven to the British Embassy, just four blocks south of the restaurant. Everyone was exhausted by jetlag and the need to be 'on their best game' while interacting with their hosts. Gareth sat in the back row of the van, since he was one of the tallest and needed more legroom than there was elsewhere. Rosalind's blonde hair glinted from where she was in the passenger's seat. He wondered how much she'd slept or eaten in the past twenty four hours. Not much, he was guessing, but she was as impassive as ever and showed no signs of fatigue.

Gareth had no problem falling asleep that night, but he at least had the presence of mind to dress in pyjamas and brush his teeth. He rose at the sound of his wakeup call and went about his morning routine. His head pounded and he knew he wasn't fully rested but the only way to adjust one's body clock was to force it into alignment with the new timezone.

He stepped out into the hall of the embassy's living quarters and saw it was empty. It was very quiet. Perhaps nobody else was awake at six in the morning. Gareth could either go back to his room and read or explore his surroundings. He knew that security rules prevented him from going off alone. He sat in the armchair by the window for a while, as the light changed and the sun rose.

"To hell with it." He muttered to himself. He pulled on his jacket over his dress shirt, no tie, and brushed down the legs of his trousers. Tucking his approved secure phone and his room key into his pocket, Gareth exited the room and walked down the hall toward the exit. He nodded politely to the embassy guards posted at the gates and paused on the street. He hadn't noticed it the night before, but the embassy was situated about a quarter mile from the Pacific coast.

He took his time walking toward what he supposed was the access point for the ocean. The breeze was gentle and unlike other tropical countries; the air was refreshingly crisp. Gareth came to find a well-maintained park just before the staircase down the side of the cliff toward the beach. There weren't many people out at this hour.

It took him about ten minutes to make his way down the stairs. The sunlight ensured the path was well lit though he was still careful about his progress. Upon reaching the sand, he decided to get as close as he could to the water where it lapped onto the shore.

Only then did he notice a solitary individual standing where he intended to go. He knew exactly who it was.

"I thought no one was allowed to go anywhere alone?" He kept his voice soft. The sun hadn't quite risen all the way and cast a warm glow, he felt it wouldn't be right to speak normally. She didn't startle at his appearance, didn't even open her eyes. A small smile tilted her lips upward as she took a deep breath and let it go. The retreating waves seemed to follow the timing of her exhalation.

"That only goes for those under our watch." She was just as quiet as he.

The scenery was breathtaking. He was shocked by the prime real estate the Foreign Office somehow managed to receive, but nothing could be more lovely than the way she turned slowly toward him. Her eyelids lifted and he could see her eyes were hazel. She crossed her bare arms-she'd worn a white cotton blouse that fluttered with the wind-and the smile left her face though her expression stayed open.

"But who watches the watchers?" Gareth asked. His voice had turned a bit gravelly. He stood close, but not too close, their arms didn't brush at all.

"A conundrum for the powers that be." Her own had turned husky as well. It seemed they were mirror images of each other, quietly standing side by side on the beach. They had nowhere to be for another hour, so he savored the unexpected peace. The sun climbed higher and higher, and a group of surfers barrelled down the steps to run straight into the water. Ros smirked at their enthusiasm. He knew their time was up.

"Come on, sir, you've got a full day ahead."

"Gareth." He found himself saying to her retreating back. "When we're like this, call me Gareth."

She stopped in her tracks but didn't face him, just turned so that he could see her profile.

"Then call me Ros."

They went up the stairs without talking, but he was cognisant that something changed. It was inevitably superseded by the day's schedule, the embassy had come to life and Rosalind showed no signs that whatever it was affected her too. She was the consummate professional, she was maddening, she was _Ros_.

When Gareth went to the bathroom to splash his face with water and stared at himself in the mirror.

" _Damn it."_ He whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

" _A soft woman is simply a wolf caught in meditation."_

-Pavana

* * *

Gareth steadfastly refused to succumb to jetlag. He rose a quarter after six on the second morning of the trip and resolved to go for a run outdoors. They'd been driven on the road running alongside the cliff called the Malecón several times by now to get to and from the Embassy. The cliffside path was suitable for pedestrians and offered a stunning view of the ocean. In a lightweight pullover, sweatpants and trainers, he felt unobtrusive enough. He made no noise, leaving his room and stepping into the hall. Again his colleagues were either still asleep or tucking into the breakfast buffet. He made sure his room key was secure in his pocket and continued to the elevator.

The exit on the ground floor was staffed by Peruvian nationals working for the embassy, young men to whom he said, "Good morning" as he passed. It was warmer that day. Warm enough for him to regret wearing a pullover instead of one of the t-shirts he'd balled up at the bottom of his suitcase. To compensate, he focused on breathing properly. The views really did make the experience far more pleasant than it might have been otherwise. He didn't pass too many others along the way, only local residents with their dogs and people biking perhaps to work. Running in Lima made a nice change from his usual workout at the fitness club back home.

Gareth ran until he felt it prudent to use his remaining strength to make it back to the embassy. By his estimation, he'd gone about five kilometres. Not too far but just enough to wake him up and clear his head. A quick shower and shave, and he was dressed in a light blue collared shirt beneath a casual grey suit. He took only his wallet, passport and phone as they had another full day of plans and he didn't want to fuss about.

"Good morning, Gareth." Martha Nelson greeted him as he helped himself to fresh bread and scrambled eggs at breakfast. She was of the resilient, upbeat sort, as many women at that level in government positions tended to be. Her sense of humour was so dry it was often difficult to tell if she was joking half the time. Nonetheless, Martha was one of his favorite colleagues.

"Morning. Sleep well?" He watched as she refilled her coffee mug and went about adding cream and sugar.

"All too well! I stayed up later than I thought after speaking with my chief of staff and fell asleep dreaming of outreach efforts in Stoke Newington and Peruvian boobies."

"I won't ask you to elaborate on that second point." He said through a mouthful of eggs.

Martha scoffed. "Honestly, Mallory did you read the itinerary at all? We're going to the Ballesta Islands tomorrow to tour the fertilizer plant. They create organic fertiliser from the massive amounts of bird excrement there and export it worldwide. A lot of it goes to the UK actually."

McTaggart and Valls joined them at the breakfast table, both of them looked a bit peaky at the mention of bird excrement. Gareth wore his best poker face when asking, "Remind me how this has anything to do with national security?"

"I think the committee planners were out of serious items and this was a last ditch addition." Valls grumbled from behind his coffee. He and McTaggart were around fifteen or so years his and Martha's senior, decidedly more conventional than their female colleague.

"Fair enough. Perhaps we can work together to find a way to use bird shit for fighter-jet fuel." Martha deadpanned.

The three men couldn't help but laugh outright at that, in the safety of their own embassy where none of their hosts could possibly be offended. The rest of the meal was spent in serious discussion of the events ahead. At eight o'clock, Sam from their security team informed them the van was ready and it was time to first visit was to the Peruvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, right at the center of colonial Lima. Senior Peruvian and UK diplomats from the Lima branch of the Foreign Office were to meet them. From there, the delegation would embark on a thorough tour of the city center and its historical sites.

Claire Vasquez was the senior political director at the British Embassy in Lima and thus had the most meaningful connections with the Ministry's leadership. It didn't hurt that she held dual English and Spanish nationalities. She'd been the primary consultant for their delegation and was helpful with Gareth's defence-related inquiries. Straightforward in her phone manner, she knew exactly what sort of information he needed and what was naff.

Claire introduced them to her Peruvian counterpart, a man by the name of Luis Málaga Lopez. Gareth judged him to be mid-thirties from his energy. The man's movements had an economic brand of grace as he said, "Welcome, or as we say _bienvenido_ , to our headquarters and our city's center. I hope you have all had a pleasant start to your trip." Lopez introduced his senior staff who were similarly polite but whose English was more heavily accented.

"The warmth and hospitality we've experienced is unparalleled." Martha said with genuine appreciation. The men of the group concurred with the statement.

"Emphasis on the warmth! It deserves our utmost gratitude, we'd just gotten through a nasty storm when we left." McTaggart added with no small amount of cheek. This prompted laughter all 'round. Gareth was pleased how it set the tone on a good note for the rest of the day.

The security teams then introduced themselves to each other, and to the different principals of both nations. The Peruvian security looked especially capable, tall and strong in uniform, in contrast to the British team's plain clothes. Ros greeted Claire and Lopez in surprisingly fluent Spanish-the change of language modified her posh English accent to a more robust sound. Yet another intriguing transformation, Gareth noted, against his will. He lingered in the back with McTaggart in exploring the Latin American art of the office lobby, all the bursts of colour and form in the otherwise staid room.

The group's remarks and general attitude went over very well with the Peruvians, and soon enough they were on their tour. Gareth was engrossed enough in the history and architecture that surrounded them to not consciously tune into Ros's every move. She was on duty, along with David, Sam, and the Peruvian ministry's guards. As they were primarily moving on foot, the security situation was more porous than it would have been if they were in the van. He couldn't help calling to mind what the Mayor said about Shining Path's attempts to bomb this section of Lima. It caused him to shiver slightly despite the afternoon heat.

It turned out Valls was an amateur photographer. He slowed the group down a bit to document the impressive façade of the Cathedral and Plaza de Armas, but their minders humoured him. It seemed this truly was the heart of the city, as major government buildings, shops and cafes lined the area around it. Crowds of tourist flocked to see the changing of the guard at the Palacio Presidencial. They didn't stay long. Maybe the Peruvians didn't want them to question why they hadn't received an executive welcome.

Gareth was walking with Claire as the group wound its way through the Plaza. They were discussing the Peruvian navy's purchase of British ships meant to patrol the southeastern drug cartel territories. They kept their voices sotto voce in case their minders realised they were talking about some of the more controversial subjects in Peruvian politics.

"The cocaine is shipped out toward the port city of Callao via the rivers, from there heavily armed drug mules carry the shipments on foot. The mules are often young boys looking to make money to support their families. When the police target the mules, both suffer heavy casualties." Claire muttered sadly.

"Makes it a hell of a lot harder to condemn drug trafficking when you learn the demand comes from North America and Europe." Gareth replied.

"We run some entrepreneurial outreach programs and microfinance training with the municipalities to create opportunities that keep young kids away from the drug trade but that can only do so much. It's a culture, a way of life in some of the rural parts."

"You do excellent work here. Britain couldn't have asked for a better rep nor Peru for a more dedicated partner."

"Don't let the Yanks hear you say that." Claire winked.

The perseverance that frontline FCO diplomats possessed never failed to impress Gareth. Claire not only had an excellent grasp of the country and language but also humility that prevented her from becoming complacent. She was staring at something ahead, rather intently.

"Damn that cheeky bastard." Claire sighed with disapproval.

Gareth followed Claire's line of sight. Valls was still snapping photos of everything they passed, Martha was chatting happily with Lopez, McTaggart was trying to avoid being pickpocketed by street kids and the security team was evenly dispersed ahead. Then Gareth saw what Claire saw.

Ros and one of the Peruvian guards were walking too closely together for it to be considered professional. Her back was rigid as she strode forward but her pace couldn't deter the guard. Every few steps, the guard would raise his hand to the small of her back. Though Ros didn't welcome or dissuade the contact, Gareth knew she had to have been irritated by it. He couldn't see either of their faces as this carried on a few more times. Claire watched him react and he decided he needed to see if everything was alright.

"Excuse me, I need to ask Rosalind something. I'll be right back." He excused himself and lengthened his steps.

"Rosalind, do you have an extra copy of the maps we were handed earlier?" Gareth blurted out the first thing that came to mind, interrupting whatever the pair had been saying between themselves. The guard's hand flew back to his side where it belonged and both he and Ros turned halfway to glance back at him. He was right; her eyes flashed dangerously and her smile was almost deadly. He wondered why she didn't tell the guard to back off.

"Let me check, sir." Ros then looked at the guard and said, " _Perdón, tengo que responder a la pregunta del_ _Señor.**"_

The guard nodded and gave them some distance. Gareth sighed. They were probably near their lunch location by now and it was nearing one thirty. They still had much left to cover. Ros lifted an eyebrow but said nothing, just continued walking. Her eyes constantly scanned their environment. He wondered if he wasn't much better than the poor chap he'd driven away if his own presence was just as much of a hindrance to her.

"He's awfully friendly, no?" It slipped past his lips before he could filter his thoughts. Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Ros narrowed her eyes. "He's Latin." When he refused to let it go, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, "If my choices are to grit my teeth and bear it, or cause an international incident while the Peruvians are hosting a UK delegation, I think the optimum choice is clear."

Gareth didn't intend to patronise her further but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ros was more than capable of holding her own and he was stupid to doubt she could.

Nonetheless, he began, "If he tries, _anything-_ "

"If he tries anything he'll get a swift one in the solar plexus. Satisfied?" Her nonchalant tone didn't fool him at all. The whole exchange suddenly seemed so ludicrous that he couldn't help but laugh. He laughed loudly, unable to help himself. It seemed to be infectious because she looked like she was struggling to reign in her own laughter. A small giggle that was so unlike her almost had him checking if pigs were flying. She got herself under control before they drew further attention to themselves.

At lunch, they ate splendidly. He and Claire involved Martha in the more politically correct version of their earlier conversation and got Lopez to weigh in on the drug situation. Facts and figures dominated the hour. All the while, Gareth wondered what it would sound like if Ros really truly laughed and how he could make it happen.

The tour of old Lima ended with Lopez's farewell, and the group boarded their van for the journey south toward the region of Ica. Their main goal was to see the northern shipping port on the Paracas peninsula, which was one of the sites where some British aircraft carriers stopped while patrolling the Pacific. Gareth privately acknowledged that this was related to their committee's mission, so he had no complaints. The infrastructure on the way down from Lima had steadily deteriorated, however. It took a very long three hours to reach Paracas, a seaside town near the port and the Ballesta Islands.

A half hour boat ride brought them out to the islands, and all anyone could focus on was the stench. Bird shit indeed-there were thousands of Peruvian boobies that dwelt on the islands, second to them were the packs of sea lions that lazed about on the rocks. They were able to view the scientific research station as well as the fertiliser plant from the boat's position.

On the way back, they docked at the shipping port and disembarked to tour the facility. Their guide spoke Spanish only and Ros was the only one of the group who could translate. Gareth used the excuse to look at her and listen. He would ask her how she attained such fluency at some point.

It was well past ten o'clock when they finally settled into their little seaside hotel back in Paracas. There was a small bar in the lobby but it went unstaffed at that time of night. Martha, Valls and McTaggart were exhausted and nowhere to be found. Gareth was tired to his bones but thought a glass of something stronger than water was very appealing at the moment. He searched the shelves behind the bar and when he was about to change his mind about drinking, he turned around to find Rosalind staring back at him expectantly.

"There's some pisco on the back shelf. Just there." She nodded with her chin. "If you don't want to drink alone, pour me a shot."

He did as he was told wordlessly. Sitting across from her at an uneven wooden table, Gareth found he already felt drunk-jetlag and his own muddled feelings made one intoxicating blend. He was about to take a swig but she held a single finger up in warning.

"There's a way to do this You have to smell the alcohol. Let your senses acclimate first."

He watched her do it and followed her lead.

"Now, you take the whole drink into your mouth but _do not_ swallow. You have to hold it in your mouth for three whole seconds. As if you're gargling while brushing your teeth."

"Ready?" He said in a challenging tone. She just smirked and tossed the drink back. When he tried to do as she explained, he was mortified when his eyes teared up and he felt like the entire inside of his mouth was on fire. She looked nonplussed. He watched her count to three on one hand, each of her slender digits lifting exaggeratedly slow.

They swallowed, and not a moment too soon.

" _Fucking christ!"_ Gareth wheezed. He slammed the shot glass upside down and sat back in his chair, coughing.

He was stunned when Ros threw her head back and laughed, a full-bodied rich laugh that warmed him far more than the Peruvian alcohol.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

" _In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity."_

-Sun Tzu

* * *

The next two days passed quickly. Their local guides were considerably more easygoing than in the city and spoke absolutely no English. This left Claire and Ros to switch off on simultaneous translation duty. At lunch on the fourth day of the trip, Claire dropped into a chair and took a healthy swig of bottled water. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and said with a tired smile, "I haven't done this much interpreting in years."

They'd taken two Jeeps through the desert east of Paracas in order to see the vast sand dunes and oasis that the region was famous for. The Peruvian military sometimes conducted exercises and drills in the uninhabited portions of the Ica desert. Gareth could understand why such a spot was ideal. They pulled up to the desert oasis around mid afternoon when the sun beat down on the sand and the heat was at its highest point. The oasis itself was beautiful, its edges boasted sturdy palm trees whose leaves swayed lethargically. There were small houses and a few hotels around the water, visitors outnumbered the residents and the main source of revenue came for the area came from tourism.

Valls and Martha went off to take photos of the oasis, accompanied by Sam. David and Claire stayed with Gareth and McTaggart at the open-faced cafe that faced the water. McTaggart was amazed at the natural phenomenon, how Peru's geography could be so varied.

"Coast, desert and the Amazon all in one country!" McTaggart remarked. "I confess I wasn't thrilled when we were on the plane here. I am decidedly glad we were sent after all."

"Me as well," Gareth admitted, earning amused looks from the security officer and diplomat. "You've all been wonderful and we owe you much for your assistance."

"This is what we signed up to do." David shrugged, though one could tell he was quietly pleased at the gratitude. It was only too easy to take them for granted, Gareth knew. Claire nodded in agreement and drank more water, scanning the sparse throngs of people around the waterfront.

Gareth spotted a curious statue of a mermaid near the miniature dock. "Any particular significance to that?"

Claire furrowed her brow as she composed her reply. "That statue depicts the mermaid of the oasis's creation story. Legend has it the lagoon was formed from the tears of an Incan princess who lost her lover to sudden death. There are many variants to the tale, but that's the gist of it. Tragic story, but it doesn't at all deter South American honeymooners from coming here. This is a very popular spot for them."

"I'm sure that story doesn't hurt marketing efforts to draw foreign visitors' money either." McTaggart said a touch too snidely. Gareth was chagrined by his colleague's cynicism. He also drank from his water bottle and set it on the table before getting up to take stock of his surroundings. David made to get up as well but Gareth waved him away.

He didn't see Martha or Valls anywhere, perhaps they'd made it to the other side of the water by then. There was a family negotiating a rowboat rental and a few food vendors selling fragrant local food, in spite of that he was awed by the utter silence of the place. He searched for Ros, unable to find her at first glance. Gareth finally spotted her near the balustrade of the village center that overlooked the lagoon. He picked up his pace in her direction, noticing she was stooped over and speaking with a small child. The little girl looked anxious, which explained Ros's quiet Spanish that he overheard as he approached. They were in an emptier part of the town. Most people were down by the water. The silence was distinct here.

"Estás segura que tu madre partió de aca? Tal vez ella regrese pronto.*" Ros asked. The little girl seemed to avoid Ros's eyes, fretfully clutching at her doll. Ros sighed, placing her palms flat on her thighs. Ros made no acknowledgement of Gareth's presence, she was purely concerned for the child.

"Señora, por favor, tengo miedo." Came the tiny voice. Gareth knew enough basic Spanish to know that meant the girl was afraid. Ros straightened and held her arms out. The girl immediately ran into her embrace, hugging tightly. That sort of instant trust was astounding. Ros finally looked at Gareth in the eye and the compassion in her was something he hadn't expected to see.

Wisps of her blonde hair escaped from the confines of her bun. Her skin was flushed slightly from the desert heat and maybe even a little sunburned. Her collared shirt was rumpled and her jeans were dusty. She shouldn't have looked alluring, but his mind seemed to deviate from conventional standards. He had nothing to say. They just looked at each other while she comforted the little girl with gentle strokes over her back.

A flash of movement behind Ros jolted him out of the moment. He gasped, eyes widening in horror. Ros whipped her head around and didn't stop to think as she shoved the girl into his arms and turned around. He held the girl tightly, torn between protecting her and grabbing Ros to _get her back_ but she was already charging the gunman who fired twice in rapid succession. He picked the girl up and ran for the nearest house to take cover behind a wall. Heart hammering, he listened for sounds of a scuffle. Tense minutes passed as the kid cowered in his grip, every fibre of his being screamed at him to help Ros.

Frantic footsteps could be heard nearby-it was David who sprinted toward the commotion, flying past Gareth and the girl.

When the all clear came, Gareth left the girl behind the house and ran to where he saw the town's police arresting their injured assailant. David was with Ros, whose expression had closed off completely. They were speaking to each other the way intelligence officers did, in hushed language between them that only they understood. Gareth went to them, telling himself he needed to see she wasn't shot. He held a hand out as if to grasp her arm. Before he could say anything, Ros wrenched herself away and hissed, "I'm fine." She stormed away, not even sparing a second glance for the little girl who she'd been so protective of earlier. David clenched his jaw and they both watched her head toward their Jeeps.

"These types of scams are not unheard of. They'll use little children as bait, lure visitors to secluded areas and then move in. They'll go after wallets, money, anything they can sell." David explained. So it wasn't a terrorist threat or the delegation being targeted. No wonder Ros was so angry. She'd fallen victim to an attempt at petty theft.

The ride back to Paracas was uncomfortable, both because of the potholes in the road and the stony silence. Ros had a cut on her cheek and a reddish bump on her forehead that looked like it would swell up the next day. Gareth knew she felt badly about what transpired. He probably would have too, had the roles been reversed. He was just grateful that no one was seriously hurt. It was impressive, however, the way she went after the attacker without hesitation. The way she charged right into the barrel of a gun and subdued the man. From the way she was unwaveringly staring out the window, he knew better than to voice his thoughts.

Ros was the first to leap out of the Jeep and head into the hotel. Sam and David secured the vehicles while she swept the lobby and greeted the hotel's owner and staff. Valls, Martha and McTaggart followed, ready for a late dinner and then to turn in for the night. The meal passed in pensive silence, save for the clinking of utensils on plates. The security team ate at another table but were finished long before they did. Ros went up to her room with David's approval as he and Sam waited for the MPs.

In the darkness of the corridor, Gareth paused where he knew Ros's room to be. He raised his knuckles to knock, hovering at his eye-level. When he detected no sounds from within, he rethought his decision and continued down to his room. The anticipation of seeing her, vulnerable and quiet, and then his self-denial jarred him beyond comprehension. He shouldn't disturb her. It'd be inappropriate.

 _More inappropriate than taking shots of Pisco in an empty bar? Than watching the sun rise over the ocean on an empty beach?_ _Than fending off an overly flirtatious security guard?_ Gareth viciously silenced the nagging thoughts. He pulled off his dusty clothes and hung them over the back of the desk chair. His shoes were full of sand when he kicked them off. He rinsed off in the shower, grateful for running water, and put on a shirt and a pair of briefs.

He pulled out his international phone for the first time during the trip and dialled a number he knew by heart. Pressing it close to his ear, he reclined on the bed. His legs were too long for the mattress and his feet dangled off the edge. Four rings and the line went live.

"Darling, I've been worried! Nearly a week and I haven't heard from you once." Elaine's voice was tinny in his ear. She sounded drowsy like she just woke up. Gareth realised London time was several hours ahead and it was early in the morning where his wife was.

"I'm sorry," Another apology escaped him. He closed his eyes and imagined her sitting in their kitchen, wearing that fluffy lavender bathrobe as she went about making breakfast. Maybe it was still stormy and London was plagued by traffic, the neighbor's cat may have trampled through their herb garden again. He wasn't there to shoo it away, Elaine would have to chase after it in her robe and slippers. What was a cat doing outside in the pouring rain anyway…?

"-Gareth? Are you still there?"

Her voice jolted him out of his sleepy haze.

"Yeah, just tired. I'm sorry again, I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's great. I've learned a lot more than I thought I would at the onset. Peru is beautiful."

"It's a shame you're not able to go to Macchu Pichu."

"Unfortunately, I don't think the taxpayers would appreciate us using their money for sightseeing expenses. We'll have to come back one day, just the two of us."

"Oh, you're an expert now are you?" She teased.

"I told you, I've learnt a thing or two." He nestled into the duvet and pillow, facing the center of the bed as if Elaine were actually there. "How is it at the gallery?"

"We've received some of the new shipments-did you know that a lot of them are from South American artists? Lots of sculpture on loan to us, a couple of paintings-oh! That reminds me, I had a bit of a chat with your chief of staff and we were thinking it may be a nice idea to hold an art contest. We'd solicit entries from students in our constituency and the winner could have their work displayed in your office. I could have a friend of mine, a curator, judge the works and grant prizes to encourage the arts among young students…"

Elaine was in the habit of speaking in a stream of consciousness when she was excited about an idea. Truth be told, he was only half listening. He wanted the normalcy she exuded, the blissful stability. She rarely paused for input until she'd finished her piece.

"That sounds brilliant. I'll speak with Alistair when I get back. Only two more days until I see you."

"Can't wait. I'll have supper ready when you arrive, and I'll pick you up at Heathrow. I love you."

He repeated it back, hung up, and drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * *

By the end of the fact-finding mission, the MPs were more than ready to go home though no one complained aloud. They departed Paracas by van and endured the three hour return drive toward Lima. Gareth observed the little towns they passed, leaning against the van window. He and the others discussed all they'd experienced and what they'd take back with them in terms of cultural exchange. He was surprised by how open minded McTaggart and Valls were. Martha had tart comments for a few things but she too admitted to enjoying the trip.

Sam drove the van while David sat in the passenger seat, he and his colleagues occupied the van's middle rows, and Ros was sat next to Claire in the last row. Gareth avoided speaking to her directly as she still looked unapproachable, her face blank and inscrutable. Lima was a welcome sight as they rolled into the sprawling metropolis for one more night before their early morning departure.

The British Embassy loomed high along the Larcomar skyline, how was it that he hadn't noticed how imposing the building looked before? Its black reflective walls glittered in the night. The van pulled into the underground parking structure and they exited. He and his colleagues were greeted by embassy staff who went into the back of the van for all the luggage so they could take it to their rooms.

"I'll make sure supper is underway." Claire excused herself from the group.

The MPs went to the Embassy's reception room where they found tea, coffee and light refreshments awaiting them. The security team didn't come in, leaving them free to discuss sensitive issues. Despite the privacy afforded to them, no one really wanted to speak. The rest of the evening was just as morose. Gareth knew they were thinking of the immediate leap back into active session just a day after their return to London and the never-ending political arguments that awaited them in the House.

He and Valls hung back to enjoy a nightcap. Martha begged off and McTaggart stayed just for one finger of whiskey. Valls nattered on about his photos while Gareth nodded and smiled vacantly. He'd gone through quite a bit of whiskey before he realised he was alone in the reception room.

The wooden door opened slowly. Ros stepped in, wearing a black singlet and cream-coloured slacks that brushed the floor as she walked. Her face was as open as it was on the morning on the beach. It stole his breath. He watched her come close to stand in front of him. He set his glass down on the coffee table and sat up, not taking his eyes off her.

She spoke without preamble. "I acted carelessly. I should have seen what was going on."

Without thinking, he placed a gentle hand on her waist. She didn't flinch or back away. He belatedly realised the possible double meaning behind her words. Did she know how much he enjoyed being provoked by her? How captivating she was to him? His head spun at the implications. The feel of her was at once too much and not enough. His fingers flexed as if to reassure himself she was really there and he heard her inhale sharply through her nose. His other hand came up to rest on her hip.

"You're fantastic," He whispered and then instantly felt stupid at the way drink had loosened his tongue.

He watched, mesmerised, as she leaned down so her face was nary an inch from his.

"Gareth, this can't go on. You'll carry on with your clean life with Elaine, your seat in the Commons will be safe. You'll make the Committee a critical part of the intelligence community. To keep us in line." She pressed her cheek against his. He could hear her steady breathing at his ear, feel the warmth of her skin that looked like perfect marble.

"But this," Her lips on his cheek and the words he knew were coming were double edged swords. "This can't happen."

Before she could straighten up, he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. He pressed his face into her stomach, hugging her waist, and knew this was her saying her private goodbye before they were again forced into the roles of Mr. Gareth Mallory, MP and Ms. Rosalind Myers, MI-6 case officer. She ran her fingers through his hair, then down his shoulders and back. The room was so still around them. Their private interactions always felt removed from the world. Atemporal. It was only when they came back together that he could believe these brief moments really happened.

When her palms graced his cheeks, he leaned back. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes bright. She looked so very kissable. He stood up, bringing his body flush against her. Ros's breathing quickened and she couldn't stop looking at his mouth, he knew if he made his move, it wouldn't be unwelcome.

A noise at the door caused them to jump apart. She was shaking, he realised with a lurching sense of regret. He'd never in his life been faced with a personal conflict of this magnitude. He'd been naive at the onset. This began the moment she lashed out at the committee hearing, and it seemed his attraction to her wasn't unreciprocated.

She was away from him and halfway out the door without another word. Gareth Mallory picked up his remaining whiskey and downed it, feeling like a condemned man.

The end of February brought predictably terrible weather-the rain didn't let up for days. Their flight back got tossed around by turbulence and Gareth was slack with relief when the plane finally landed and taxied. Elaine was there as promised, she was in high spirits as she kissed him. She took his duffel bag and greeted his colleagues. The security team was seeing to the checked luggage and it seemed that David and Sam fetched most of the suitcases.

"Thanks very much, gentlemen. Where's Rosalind?" Martha asked. Gareth glanced at his shoes as he waited for the answer.

"There's been an emergency in the office and she was called in." David said as he handed her her bags. It was impossible to tell if David told the truth. Gareth bade the group goodbye and took Elaine by the hand to find their car. The drive home was mercifully quick.

"There's pot roast in the oven and mashed peas in the fridge." Elaine said as she took his coat off his shoulders. He thanked her quietly and ate as much as he could, though he hardly tasted anything. His wife noticed his mood but attributed it to the toll that long travel took on people. She could hardly know about the extent of his inner turmoil.

Four years of Elaine had just been unceremoniously blown out of the water by seven days with Ros Myers. He lay awake in bed that night as his wife slumbered peacefully at his side. There was his upcoming reelection campaign, then election day, Elaine's art competition, laws to evaluate, bills to write, agencies to regulate...

His connection with Ros brimmed with something he'd never quite experienced with another person. All it would take was one slip, and he knew he'd be absolutely insatiable. He was not a man who loved in halfs. Elaine was his world before it was knocked off its axis. The guilt tore at him. This was not the man he wanted to be, it was not the man he ever imagined himself to be.

Ros was right to have walked away. She was a phantom, shrouded in the secrecy of her profession. Gareth placed an arm around Elaine, holding her close, and finally fell asleep.

* * *

June 1996

He was walking along the Embankment preparing to cross Westminster Bridge when his mobile rang. He didn't bother to screen the call as he usually did, he was distracted by a group of schoolchildren. They were walking in the opposite direction and he had to dodge some of the unruly students. He smiled at the harried teacher who apologised needlessly and he took the call.

"This is Mallory."

"...Gareth."

He stopped dead in his tracks, in the middle of the bridge. Streams of people passed him without a second glance.

"Ros." When all he got was silence, he grew concerned, "Are you okay?"

"I've been assigned elsewhere. I'm..I leave in two days." She spoke firmly. As if it were an imposition to speak with him, as if she wasn't the one who called in the first place. He bristled inwardly.

"Where?" He couldn't help asking.

"I don't want to lie. Not to you."

Well. He turned in the direction he knew the MI-6 building was at Vauxhall Cross. He couldn't see the green and tan building but he imagined her in an office somewhere inside, on the phone with him.

"Alright."

There seemed to be nothing further to say. Too many months passed. He wanted more than anything to ask to see her. It would be pointless. She'd say no, for good reason. He suspected her reserves of self control were more impervious to temptation than his. Even with the railing of the bridge beneath his hand, he remembered the curve of her waist, her faint fragrance as he held her.

"Take care of yourself." He urged her.

There was a soft huff of air that may have been a laugh. He relished it.

"You too. Goodbye Gareth."

"Goodbye Ros."

The media detected that the Rt. Honorable Gareth Mallory was considerably off during debate in the House. His advisors and staff watched haplessly from the office. When he met with his chief, he could see the unvoiced disappointment in his eyes. Only Gareth knew the reason for his poor performance, and the hollow feeling that he couldn't seem to shake.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

" _Non faciat malum, ut inde veniat bonum."_

 _(You are not to do evil that good may come of it.)_

-Juvenal

* * *

2005

This was hardly the first time he'd been invited to the Cabinet Office Briefing Room. It was, however, the most worrisome to date. As the second most senior MP on the Intelligence and Security Committee, Gareth Mallory had clearance to be present during particularly sensitive intelligence operations.

The foreign policy landscape had changed vastly in the past decade. The invasion of Iraq blew the top off a can of worms and found there were all manner of snakes instead. Mallory was between a rock and hard place in the runup to the vote that decided whether the UK would launch a military campaign against the Hussein government. He voted with the majority, he and his colleagues believed the intel spoke for itself, yellowcake uranium had been shipped from Niger to Iraq.

The more vocal critics among his constituency ripped him in the press, stating that he'd caved to pressure from the Prime Minister, with whom he grew increasingly more cosy. They accused him of putting his career over conscience. At the time, he was stung by those reports. He always carried on the work of the people to the best of his ability and always by the highest ethical standards. The vehement disapproval from the international community grew to a crescendo when the White House admitted fabricating the evidence about Iraq's purchase of uranium in Africa.

Mallory recalled watching that press release alone in his office. The rumblings from MI-6, MI-5 and GCHQ that undermined what the government insisted to be true coalesced into one horrific realisation in his head. They'd known all along that there were no weapons of mass destruction, or had at least instinctively known. Instead of siding with those of his colleagues who opposed war, he shut up and let events run their course.

Gareth struggled with this crisis of conscience every time the Committee was briefed on the number of casualties for both sides, suicide bombings, foreign fighters, sectarian violence between Sunnis and Shias, the destabilisation of the region... His home life saved him. He reaffirmed to himself Elaine was the still point of a madly turning world. She kept him grounded through it all. His job required more and more travel. He liaised with other European intelligence services and most frequently with the Americans. Gareth found himself in Washington more often than he'd wanted.

Because he worked hard, Gareth was deeply respected by his chairman. Differences in political beliefs aside, Chairman Alain Deacon recognised and rewarded his work ethic. The man ruled with an iron fist and got results, something that the Prime Minister and the Cabinet needed and relied upon. So Gareth sat at the elongated table in the Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, or COBRA. He hated those stupid acronyms, but the rise in professional stature seemed to entail the abbreviation of nearly everything. He and Chairman Deacon represented the ISC while senior members of the Joint Intel Committee were present as well. Others at the table comprised the Foreign Secretary, the Director General of MI-5, and the head of MI-6, MoD leadership, and their respective assessment staffers. A formidable group to be sure. Gareth was sure they'd be able to hear a pin drop with how thick the silence was.

All eyes were trained on the large screen in front of them. An MI-6 op was playing out before their eyes. Two 00 agents were in an undisclosed location. Even the people in this room were unaware of the exact coordinates, in order to be able to claim plausible deniability if the whole thing went tits up. The agents wore masks that only revealed their eyes and mouth, but they were told it was 006 and 007 who were the leads on the op. There was no noise except for the faint crackling of the connection. The camera was fastened to one of the agents' gear, presenting them with a decent view of what was happening.

A man was bound, gagged and blindfolded on the floor between the two 00s. He seemed to be unconscious until the visible 00 agent aimed a swift kick to his midsection. The man emitted a pitiful groan, showing he was awake. He began to scream but it was muffled by the rag stuffed in his mouth. The man would be pissing blood for weeks.

Gareth's stomach turned. His experience in captivity under the brutality of the IRA was not unlike this scenario. He was sure his face betrayed nothing, but his grip on his pen tightened until his knuckles turned white. M's countenance gave nothing away either. The woman could turn water into ice with a single glance. These were her agents and it was clear she absolutely believed in their mission.

"Mr. Khan, I think you know why you're here." The 00 who delivered the kick turned out to be female. She spoke in whispers, but the mic was good enough to pick up every word. She removed the gag and tossed it aside, leaving the man's blindfold in place.

"Go to hell!" The man screamed, doubled over on the floor. He was scared but knew to expect violence. Gareth had a sinking feeling he knew how this would end. The stakes were high, they needed the information this man had. God help them if he didn't, and they nabbed a false lead.

The 00 wearing the camera spoke up. 007's voice was threatening for its utter clinicality. He sounded like he could be ordering a drink, not like he was about to commit torture. "We know you don't fear death, Mr. Khan, but we have the means to make you wish for it."

"There's nothing you can do now. The plan is in place and our martyrs are ready to carry out their orders!"

The female 00 was deliberately pacing with her gloved hands clasped behind her back. She seemed just as composed as her fellow agent. Gareth observed her manner of walking, all in fitted black she resembled a panther biding its time before a strike. Something in him reacted to it on a visceral level. He was frozen in place, there was so much riding on the shoulders of these agents. The man they were interrogating purportedly had information about an al-Qaeda plot to bomb London within the next two days. A series of coordinated bombings in the heart of the city would result in untold casualties of innocents. Foreign policy missteps aside, British citizens didn't deserve to die in such senseless violence. The 00s were authorised to kill, but this mission called for extraction of vital intelligence. 006 and 007 were the best and brightest of their cohort. Gareth didn't believe in God but if ever there was a time he wished a greater power could intercede on their behalf, it was now.

The woman moved so fast that several people in the room jumped when she aimed another kick to Khan's midsection without missing a beat. 007 didn't react, letting her take charge.

"All we need are names and locations. You tell us who your co-conspirators are and where they plan to detonate their explosives, and we let you go."

"Bullshit!"

"We know you're not afraid to die. There's very little I can do to reason with that sort of conviction. I frankly don't have that kind of time." She stood directly above the man now, speaking down at him, "If you decide not to tell us, we will turn you over to the Egyptian security service. Al-qaeda's bomb in Cairo last month killed forty people, Mohammad. How does a stint in an Egyptian prison sound?"

Khan went quiet, then. 006 may have hit a nerve, yet no information was forthcoming. 007 knew they had to move it along. The clock was ticking.

"Time's up. When we leave, our counterparts from the Mukhabarat will have a go at you and you'll be taken to Cairo." He said, walking around where Khan lay as if preparing to leave. He continued to face the middle of the room for their benefit, so they could see 006 and Khan.

006 knelt next to Khan, her elbows on her knees in a contemplative pose. "Just think...all those other inmates, awaiting your arrival. When they learn your deeds may have killed their mothers, children, parents, and believe me, they will know exactly who you are, you think you'll make friends? You think the guards will protect you? A British-born kid who's only left home once to holiday in Afghanistan because you thought radicalisation was trendy?"

007 added, "The UK diplomatic corps won't be quick to come to your rescue. If they do ever find out what happened to you, you'll just be thrown from one prison into another."

They had the names and locations in a matter of minutes. The analysts in the COBRA hurriedly inputted everything into their laptops and got to work. Gareth exhaled in tentative relief. Everyone looked around with small, grim smiles. M didn't move. Her eyes were still fixed to the screen.

"Come on, we're done here." 006 rose to her feet and went to the door of the interrogation room. She pulled it open and two men in identical uniforms entered, to whom she said blithely, "He's all yours."

007 stood aside as the men hauled Khan up and removed his blindfold. When Khan got wind of what was happening, he began to scream and scream. He resisted his Egyptian captors but to no avail, they took him from the room and out of the camera's sight.

"You promised! You fucking bitch, you promised! You can't let them do this!" The screams echoed until Khan went ominously silent.

"That's a new low, even for you." 007 said. He was hardly a stranger to the dirty reality of intelligence work, but there was something about 006's ruthlessness that even he questioned from time to time. Notorious as he was, 007 was more about ostentatious displays of bravery. 006 radiated subtlety until the very last second. Her target never knew she was after them, not until the bitter end. 007 turned to his colleague, who took off her mask. She faced 007, and the camera, head on. Gareth couldn't believe his eyes and he was aware he was gaping. From the camera angle, it was as if she were talking directly to him.

"For Queen and country." Rosalind Myers retorted. "I told him we'd let him go. I just didn't say to whom. Enough semantics, it isn't over yet. We have work to do."

The camera went dead. The lights in the COBRA went up, prompting Gareth to get a handle on his emotions before anyone could notice.

"Quite an agent you've got, M." The Foreign Secretary muttered. He was also a touch unsettled by what just transpired and the fact that he was privy to it.

M finally turned away from the screen. "We do what needs to be done. Rest assured that London will not go up in flames in the next twenty four to forty eight hours."

The room began to clear out. Gareth stared at the blank screen in shock. He'd never tried to find out what became of her or where she was stationed. He'd been unaware she'd attained 00 status. He did however follow the casework of 6's agents. 006 was a force to be reckoned with, and specialised in the Eurasian theatre. She'd spent a long time in hardship zones. In a way, he was thankful he didn't know Ros was 006 until now.

"Mallory, are you coming?" Deacon barked impatiently. "We have votes in an hour."

"How can we be complicit in this? That was a British citizen." Gareth snapped.

"A British citizen with a proven history of criminal terrorist acts, who admitted on camera to conspiracy to murder. Bond had a point about us leaving him there to rot. You think Khan would lose one night of sleep if the positions were reversed?" Deacon glared at him. "This is a new era, Mallory. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

The short journey to the House of Commons from the Cabinet Office was second nature by now. He put one foot in front of the other to keep pace with Deacon, feeling like he'd been forced out of his own skin. He was awash in violently conflicting desires. Above all, he wanted to know the horrors she must have seen, maybe even been a part of. He was disgusted by himself, by his choices, by what he just witnessed, yet after all these years, he found that he still wanted Ros Myers.

* * *

Gareth arrived home at an ungodly hour of the evening. It was the new normal ever since the 7/7 bombings were partially stopped. All but one of the bombs were stopped, their source hadn't known about the extra one. Twenty two people were killed in Russell Square.

He unlocked the front door and disarmed the security system that Elaine had had installed after she started travelling more often for work. Their trips sometimes coincided, meaning their home went uninhabited for various amounts of time. Gareth was glad his wife was away, largely because the terror threat was still so high pending how much special forces and the security services could accomplish.

He went to the bar cart he kept in his study and poured himself a glass of scotch. Sinking into the couch, he nursed the glass and stared into the amber liquid. When he first stood for Parliament, he was so convinced he'd make life better for the people he sought to represent. Now he felt like he was knee-deep in so much muck he wasn't sure he'd ever get clean again.

His glass was half empty when he heard the doorbell downstairs ring. Frowning, he paused for a second before putting down his scotch and heading to the first floor. There was a shadow at the door, but the decor on the glass prevented him from seeing who it was. Against his better judgment, Gareth opened it.

"You've got to be joking." He ground out.

"May I come in?"

"You shouldn't be out here!"

She wore a black overcoat that looked absurd considering it was a warm summer night. It contrasted dramatically with her fair colouring and her expression was wary. Gareth felt a bit hysterical when he thought she looked like a vampire. Maybe if he refused her entry, she'd be unable to overpower him. This was wholly surreal.

"Then let me in." Ros said forcefully. Gareth looked behind her for signs that his neighbours or passersby had seen her. She scoffed, "Honestly, this isn't my first time around the block," as he stood aside at last and shut the door behind her.

"Why are you here?" He asked hotly. That she knew where to find him wasn't shocking given her resourcefulness. He wasn't in the mood to spar with her, or to be confronted by the multitude of clashing feelings she always inspired in him. He despised that about her hold over him; her ability to insinuate herself into his most private thoughts.

"I was informed you were privy to the taped interrogation." Ros didn't need to clarify which one.

"Yes, that's correct."

"Shall I expect to be dragged before the committee in the near future?"

He growled and left her standing in the foyer, stalking up the stairs back to his study. He knew she'd follow him, but he was still surprised when he turned around to find her at his heels. He grabbed his glass of scotch and finished it before refilling it from the crystal decanter that had been a gift from Elaine.

"Gareth." The way she spoke his name chipped away at his resolve to ignore her.

When he did nothing, she just shrugged out of her coat. She was in a silk blouse the color of red wine and black slacks. What he assumed to be high heels added three or four inches to her height, and she was very nearly of equal height with him.

"Extraordinary renditions? Extrajudicial torture?" His tone was more plaintive than he meant it to be. He sipped at his glass, enjoying the burn down his throat. "Is this what it's come to?"

She took umbrage at that. "How dare you!"

"We cannot be above the law! Otherwise where do you draw the line? This will become the new norm, British citizens will be fair game, and the intelligence services will be all but unstoppable. We'll be no better than the Gestapo under Hitler-"

"This is war, you of all people should know-"

"Me, of all people?!"

"D'you think I don't know what you did, _Lieutenant Colonel_ Mallory," She spat his title back at him, "To the IRA operatives you had apprehended in the eighties? How is that different from what is standard procedure now? You tell me why you get to sit up on your fucking high horse and preach to me."

"I never enjoyed it!" He roared. She took a step back, unused to hearing him raise his voice at her. He regretted taking that tone with her as soon as he'd done it.

"That's what this is about? You think I-no, you know what, you're right. I do love my job." Her confession dripped with sarcasm.

"Well, maybe you should take a step back to see the bigger picture. If you continue down this road, you will lose your perspective and by then it will be too late. You'll have to live with what you've done."

"Like you do, you mean?" She took two steps forward in accusation.

"Yes!" Again, he shouted, and regretted it. She didn't back away this time though. Instead, her shoulders dropped as if all the fight had left her. She took a sweeping glance around his study, taking in the wood-paneled walls, masculine furniture, the bookshelves crammed almost beyond their capacity. Then she looked at him and he got the sense she was about to destroy him.

"I came here because this is the first I've been back to the UK for longer than a week since '96."

A world of pain surfaced in her face at that last admission. Her expression crumpled and she was the nearest to tears he'd ever seen her. It was clear he'd wounded her. The reason why the footage had so disturbed him was because it was so terribly familiar to him. He was ashamed of what he'd done in the name of national security, and he feared for what this would do to her in the long run.

"I came here," She said with a tremor, "Because I wanted to see you."

He set the glass down and as soon as it left his hand, he was walking toward her with open arms. She collapsed against him, face buried in his neck, and he could feel the stress and fear pouring out of her as she cried. He knew each and every one of those twenty two lives lost in Russell Square weighed on her soul. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, supporting its weight and his other stayed at her back.

"I'm sorry," Gareth whispered, "I'm glad you're here...I'm sorry."

He walked them backward until the backs of their legs touched the couch. He carefully maneuvered them down until they were sitting, and Ros nestled into his side. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and she held onto his free hand with both of hers.

They didn't speak at all. Her perfume was the same scent he recognised. It lingered in the air around them as her sobs grew quieter until they stopped. He freed his hand from her grip to gently wipe at her cheeks. She wore no makeup; her skin was soft under his thumb.

Gareth held himself back as he noticed the look on Ros's face. She shifted to face him better but didn't leave his side.

"Your wife?" Ros whispered.

"She's out of town." Gareth replied. The tension was unbearable, both of them were undone by the breakneck speed of their argument and were acutely cognisant of the fact that they hadn't seen each other in ten years.

"I don't have the strength to walk away from you again, Gareth." The admission was wrenched from her. She was placing her trust in him to do the right thing.

"We have a guest room here. Elaine isn't due back until the weekend. Stay here tonight." He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. She sighed and relaxed in his arms. They sat like that, together in his study, until he could no longer battle his exhaustion. He showed her the guest bedroom and gave her one of his pyjama sets to wear. The adjoining bathroom contained everything she might need.

Ros stood beside the bed, staring at the dainty pattern on the comforter.

"If you need me, I'm just two doors down." Gareth told her. The unspoken agreement hung heavy between them. This was his home with Elaine. Nothing untoward would happen here. Ros wrapped her arms around her middle as if she didn't trust herself alone with him. This was the most vulnerable he'd ever seen her.

"Good night." He turned and left her there, shutting the door behind him. He didn't sleep a wink, and when he rose at dawn, there was no evidence she'd been there except for his neatly folded pyjama set left on the guest bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

" _Longing, how soft a word for such a ravenous feeling._

 _How we hunger in silence."_

-Pavana

* * *

2008

"Chairman Mallory, the Home Secretary is just finishing up with his one o'clock. Would you care for any water or coffee?" The office assistant asked. She was sat at her desk in the outer office when Gareth entered. She stood before him now, eying the door to the inner office with a touch of nervousness.

"No thank you, Sarah. I'm perfectly fine to wait." He said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. She smiled as if pleased he remembered her name and welcomed him to have a seat on the sofa opposite her.

Gareth preferred to stand, particularly after a morning spent buried in paperwork in his own office. He stared out the window to watch government workers traverse the slate grey rotunda of the Home Office. His promotion to Chair of the ISC ensured he was a regular visitor of the Home Secretary Nicholas Blake. The man was conscientious, a trait that Gareth very much appreciated in a superior. Gareth's predecessor Alain Deacon retired from Parliament, citing health concerns, and Gareth was appointed shortly thereafter.

Six months into his tenure, he felt confident in his authority. His time in the House of Commons prepared him well for this although the new level of responsibility was bittersweet for him. Elaine did not react well to the news. Seventeen years of marriage to him was not enough to stop her from giving him an ultimatum; if he accepted his appointment, she'd ask for a divorce. Elaine stood by him through thick and thin and delayed her own career aspirations for his sake. Their efforts to have children and start a family also fell by the wayside, hastening the end of their union.

" _I just can't do this anymore, Gareth. I can't play second fiddle for the rest of my life."_ Elaine had told him tearfully. He didn't fight her, just acknowledged that she more than anyone deserved to live a full and happy life, and that no longer included him. When he finished helping her pack her belongings so she could move into her new flat, he was both relieved and heartbroken. He knew she'd always have a claim on his heart-their history would not be easily forgotten. Her art gallery thrived despite the financial crisis because of her hard work. He was proud of her in spite of it all. He could see how being married to him had limited her in ways he never considered before until he gained enough distance to see it.

Just then, the door to the inner office swung open. Harry Pearce, the head of MI-5, stepped out. He looked the same as ever, in a well-tailored suit and long black overcoat, but the frown lines on his face were markedly deeper. Gareth knew the man must've had a pressing reason to meet with the Home Secretary. Just after Pearce exited the inner office, he stepped aside to reveal a second individual-Rosalind Myers. She met Gareth's eyes over Pearce's shoulder, coming to stand at his side. Her stoic expression didn't falter, he surveyed her blonde hair cropped just above her shoulders and her eyes lined sparingly with black. She donned a black leather jacket and dark denims, both garments fit her like a glove and showed off her slender physique. Gareth couldn't imagine anyone else wearing the same gutsy outfit to meet one of the most powerful Cabinet ministers except her.

"Mallory, always a pleasure to see you." Pearce held out his hand and Gareth shook it amicably.

"Likewise. All is well, I hope?" He studiously kept his gaze trained on Pearce, but was almost hyper aware of the elusive woman's presence.

"Well as one can be after contemplating this week's brand of armageddon and how to stop it. Dum spiro, spero* and all that." The man mused. "This is Rosalind Myers, one of my officers."

Ros came toward them and they shook hands as if it were the first time they'd met.

"I believe we may have met once or twice before." Her eyes were mirrored glass as they flitted between him and Pearce. "I was seconded to MI-5 two years ago."

"Not many have done what you have. Does the change of pace suit you?" Mallory asked. His casual tone belied the joy that coursed through him from the sight of her. He tried not to feel so ridiculous, like a gobsmacked teenager. As head of Counterterrorism, Pearce was a bloodhound for this sort of thing. Gareth knew if this exchange were prolonged, Pearce would suss it out. Ros smiled but it was far from genuine.

"Suits me just fine, thanks very much." Her tone danced with false lightness. Just then, Harry's mobile went off and he frowned as he checked the caller ID.

"So sorry, I have to take this. Good to see you Mallory." Harry put the phone to his ear and proceeded into the hallway. Whether he expected Ros to follow remained to be seen. The door to the outer office fell shut of its own accord and Sarah the office assistant went to inform her boss that Mallory was there. Ros and Gareth were left alone for at least a few seconds.

"Two _years_?" He whispered, desperate to maintain his composure. How was it he had no idea of her whereabouts for so long and she turned out to be right under his nose?

"Was I supposed to throw myself a party?" She hissed back. "My father was tossed in jail, my family name left in tatters. M wanted nothing to do with me and MI-5 offered me a second chance."

He was taken aback. He knew Sir Jocelyn Myers pled guilty to tax evasion and other financial crimes but from the look on his daughter's face, there was obviously more to the story. The faint sound of Sarah's voice could be heard from the Home Secretary's office. They were running out of time. The sudden urgency of the moment caused him to blurt out what he said next.

"Can we meet in private?" He watched as her eyes, so guarded, widened almost imperceptibly. She glanced down as if to examine her shoes and he had to strain to hear her reply.

"Friday at eight, 26 New End on the Heath."

He burned the address into his memory. There were two entire days until then. Ros looked up and smiled, professional facade back in place. "Chairman." She said at a normal decibel. With that, she turned on her heel and exited the office.

Gareth fidgeted with his tie and tugged at the hem of his jacket, just as Sarah came out.

"The Home Secretary will see you now." She said as she took her place behind her desk. Gareth focused on the discussion he planned to have with Nicholas Blake, mostly regarding the budget scenarios for the Security Services and the upcoming fiscal year. As Chairman, it was his responsibility to brief the Cabinet officials on all issues pertaining to the UK intelligence machine no matter how mundane.

He went in, exchanged brief pleasantries, and sat in front of the Home Secretary's desk. Charts, figures, percentages were easy to explain. All the while, the memory of her whispered address kept replaying itself in the back of his mind.

 _26 New End Place, Hampstead Heath._

* * *

*"Dum spiro, spero" is the Latin proverb meaning "While I breathe, I hope." Harry means that as long as he's breathing, there's reason to hope the Security Services can save the day, so to speak.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **PART II**

" _Do you know what love is? I'll tell you: it is whatever you can still betray."_

― John le Carré

* * *

Friday, at last.

It was a frigid December night with the kind of wind that got under the skin down to the very bones. This mattered not a whit to Gareth as he made his way up to Hampstead at precisely half six from Westminster. He drove circuitously out of habit to avoid possible surveillance. Finding parking on the street, he saw her place was a handsome red brick building covered with vines of climbing ivy. Gareth walked past the black cast iron fence that lined the front of the property and through the open gate.

Ros was at the door before he could ring the bell. She was luminous in the half light of the entryway. From the top of the steps, he leaned toward her to kiss her cheek in greeting. He thought he felt the press of her own lips on his cheek, the ghost of an answer, but the contact was over before he could know for certain.

Once he was inside, he took in his surroundings. The stairs were to the left and there were three doors to the right down the corridor. From behind him, Ros mentioned, "The living room and kitchen are through the middle."

He removed his coat and scarf and hung them on the mounted hooks on the wall. She walked past him and disappeared through the middle door. Gareth followed and found her at the stove in the spacious kitchen. The scent of garlic and herbs were prominent, perhaps it was stew she had on. He noticed there were hardly any furniture or clutter, from what little he'd seen of the place. While the rest of her home was rather minimalist, the kitchen was a feast for the senses. The sconce lighting cast a welcoming glow on the cosy burgundy walls. There were remnants of her ingredient preparation on the dark wood counters topped with grey marble. The winter wind couldn't touch them here.

"There's wine on the table, if you'd make yourself useful." Ros said, a bit distracted as she took a heap of sliced mushrooms from a chopping board and slid them carefully into the pot. She placed the large glass lid over it halfway, lowered the fire to let the stew simmer and set the little plastic timer.

He went to the small rectangular dining table where there were indeed two stemless glasses and a half empty bottle of pinot noir. After uncorking it, he poured generously into both glasses and carried them over to her. She leaned with one hip against the counter. As he handed her the second glass, he marveled that this all felt so natural. It felt like they'd done this a thousand times before.

"Where to start?" Ros asked.

Gareth was glad it was rhetorical. He truly didn't know. Instead of answering, he raised the glass to his mouth and drank. He shut his eyes for a moment, savouring the taste.

"God, that's good." He sighed. When he opened his eyes, he caught her faint blush. Ros didn't look away but he could tell his voice affected her. It was a heady feeling, knowing he could invoke such a reaction from her. "I like it here. It's quiet." Gareth added. She accepted his lead and took a sip of her own wine.

"My mother left this property to me when she died. I just never really lived here until I came back to London in 2006. I brought an asset here once on an emergency basis. He promptly told me he hated safehouses. I didn't tell him I actually lived here."

Gareth laughed, imagining the sardonic response she must have had ready.

"In all seriousness, I'm glad you're based domestically." He said. The grin on her face faded and her eyes darkened a bit. He couldn't push this. He needed to tread cautiously. Demanding to know what happened would cause her to throw the walls up and he knew they'd be impossible to breach if she did.

"It's strange, being able to give my real name. I don't think I'll ever fully get used to _not_ being 006. I'm not a very introspective person. I could never afford to be until now."

"Like coming up from the water for a breath of fresh air, I'd imagine."

"Yeah. Something like that." Ros murmured. She sipped again at her wine. Suddenly, she put the glass on the countertop and he could tell she was done with pretense. "Do you remember the student rioting in 2006?"

He frowned. That wasn't what he expected. "...Erm, yeah. The PM's son marched with the crowds, Special Branch and CO19 had a field day."

Ros nodded. "Those protests were manipulated by the efforts of high-ranking members of the intelligence and business communities, and media. This elite group tried to force a coup d'etat, they had the means to effectively control the PM and his closest advisors. They bribed, murdered, and blackmailed to ensure their plans went through. "

He took a moment to process that. He recalled the unease in Parliament at that time. Debate focused heavily on civil liberties in the context of the war on terror. A vocal Labour MP who spearheaded civil liberties legislation committed suicide and was smeared as a paedophile in the press.

"That group was formed by my father and Michael Collingwood." She bit out.

A creeping sense of dread began to take hold on him. Collingwood frequently represented MI-6 in M's stead during sessions of the Joint Intelligence Committee as well as the ISC. He didn't know him well, just that the man had extreme views of how much power the security services ought to have. Collingwood was found dead hanging by his belt in a deserted warehouse that same year. The subsequent investigation into his death mysteriously petered out before any details came to light.

"I'd heard rumours," Gareth said carefully,"But they were never substantiated."

"Consider me your inside source. I was one of the weapons in their arsenal. My actions led to the deaths of an MI-5 desk officer and the near deaths of Harry Pearce, the Home Secretary, and the PM's son."

Gareth set his wineglass down before he dropped it. He was speechless. A conversation they had years ago in Peru came to mind. How she was never afraid to resort to drastic measures to get results, and the way she conducted that interrogation in the runup to 7/7. He could absolutely believe her.

She looked pale and anxious, but she continued. "The coup was rendered impotent by Harry Pearce and his team. His Section chief recruited me out of pity, maybe. He knew my career at 6 was over. I was in such deep shit, I'd burned one too many bridges all in the name of a cause that turned out to be predicated on lies."

"Christ, Ros-" He began. He loosened his tie, constricting as it was around his throat. The image of Collingwood with a belt around his neck wasn't easy to dispel.

"I've since paid my dues. I've earned my stripes amongst Harry's team. But I will forever bear the burden of knowing what I did." Despite her level tone, he could tell how hard it was for her to verbalise this.

"My father went away for tax evasion only after I begged for all the other charges to be removed from the official record. He _will_ die in there." A single tear rolled down her cheek. "But his goal of redefining British democracy turned out to be motivated by his financial ties to the Russian mafia. My father's contacts stood to profit from upheaval in the British political environment. I knew then that I couldn't go any further."

Ros brushed the tear away and turned back to the stove. The stew was nearly done. She turned the fire off and removed the lid, ladling a bowl and wordlessly handing it to him. It turned out to be beef bourguignon. He brought it to the table and put it down, then went back to the counter for their wine. Gareth was at a loss for words. She followed soon after, holding her own bowl and a pair of utensils for both of them.

"The cover up was obviously extensive enough that even I didn't question all of the connections between the pieces." He finally managed to say. He picked up his fork and started to eat. He found her cooking to be as delicious as the aroma hinted. It bought him time to observe her. She left her bowl untouched and instead took her wineglass in hand to drain it.

"It was kindness that I didn't deserve. I betrayed my country for my father's dream, and I betrayed my father because I knew it was wrong."

"Harry Pearce is nothing if not an excellent judge of character, and the Home Secretary one of the most upstanding men among the politicians I know. They trust you, however long it took them to get there, they trust you enough to keep you close."

She laughed quietly. It was the sound of someone who spent a long time coming to terms with their sins.

"Well, anyway. That's me, take it or leave it. Rosalind Sarah Myers. 006 no longer."

"Thank you." Gareth said simply. Opening herself up to him like this violated every instinct she'd honed for self-preservation. It went without saying that she'd done grievous wrongs. She was self-aware enough to understand that. He was grateful she trusted him to form his own opinion. That she would risk his esteem for the sake of honesty between them. As honest as a spy and an MP could be with each other.

"This is amazing, by the way." He took another bite of stew. She laughed again. This time, it sounded like pure relief. He saw her glance at his left hand, sans wedding ring.

"Elaine and I divorced after I was appointed Chairman. She...she'd had enough of this life, I'm afraid."

Ros's expression became sympathetic. She covered his hand that rested on the table and said, "I'm so sorry."

"I think she's far happier now. At least she has the opportunity to be, far more than she would've had if she stayed. My ambition consumed us. It came to the point where she felt what was left was unsalvageable. She was right." After Ros's display of candor, Gareth found it easy to show her the same courtesy.

"You loved her enough to make the choice to let her go." Ros offered. She seemed conflicted, hesitant to weigh in given the nature of their own ambiguous relationship. They were on the edge of a new world.

"My shortcomings as a husband were needlessly cruel to her. I am not an easy man to love."

"No, you're not."

They held each other's gazes for almost a second too long before turning back to their meals. The rest of their dinner passed without further discussion. Wineglasses and bowls empty, Ros stood and gathered it all to take to the sink. She began the washing up. Gareth went about cleaning her counter space, bringing all of the soiled dishes and knives to the sink and tossing leftover ingredients into the bin.

They made quick work of it. He watched as she put the last plate in the drying rack. She'd pulled up the sleeves of her cream coloured jumper, which dipped low to reveal the back of her neck and the perfect flesh between her shoulder blades.

He moved close to touch his lips to her neck, ready to back off if he was unwelcome. She gasped softly in surprise but twisted around to face him.

"You should know I'm not an easy woman to love, either." Ros looked into his eyes, haunted by the mistakes of her past. Gareth _knew_ her, her complexities and failings, and what he said next had the full weight of his conviction.

"Nothing would make me happier than to try." He answered.

They came together in a crushing kiss, red wine and lust indistinguishable from one another. Her hands were warm and slightly damp from the sink water as she pulled him to her. He didn't care. All that mattered was that she kept him right where he was, pinning her firmly against the counter and kissing her senselessly. He moved from her lips to her jaw and beautiful neck, encouraged by the quiet sighs of pleasure that graced his ear.

When he straightened up, his breathing was significantly laboured. Ros's chest rose and fell quickly with her breaths too. She looked well and truly kissed; her eyes bright, hair mussed and skin flushed in all the places he'd mapped with his lips.

The journey to her bedroom was fraught with their clumsy attempts to undress, she started with his suit jacket, wresting the buttons open and pushing it off his shoulders before getting him to take off his vest. He removed his own tie after she nearly garroted him in her attempt, causing both of them to laugh giddily. She had his shirt open and untucked so she could run her palms over his shoulders, chest and abdomen, stopping just at his belt buckle. A gentle hand over the bulge in his trousers caused him to groan from the effort of restraining himself. The urge to grind crudely into her touch was becoming a reality.

"Let's get this off you." Gareth took the hem of her cashmere jumper and raised it over her head and off her arms, ruffling her short hair in the process. The sight of her nearly naked torso had him panting, but he was too aroused to be embarrassed. She took advantage of his inaction to unbutton her jeans and step out of them. In only sleek lingerie, she was so exquisite that he could only stare in utter appreciation.

She took his hand and led him from the empty living room into the corridor and up the stairs. He kicked the bedroom door shut behind them and she went to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. When he turned to face her again, he was pleasantly shocked when she moved close to undo his belt and trouser zip. This time he couldn't help thrusting into her hand. The urgency of his desire appeared to please her, judging from the way she stroked him through his boxers. His pants and socks soon joined the small pile of discarded garments.

Being totally naked under her scrutiny proved to be a bit nerve-wracking. He was suddenly self conscious. He kept trim by virtue of too many missed meals and an exercise routine he maintained since his army days, though he knew he looked his age. Then he saw the predatory look she wore and his concerns disappeared instantly.

The fine lace of her bra scratched his chest slightly but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of kissing her again. He was proud that he had enough composure to unhook the clasp of her bra. She pulled away to slide the straps off her arms. He exhaled sharply at the sight of her breasts and cupped them softly, receiving a moan of approval from her.

Ros's bedroom was the only other space in her house that received any decorating attention besides her kitchen. There was a queen-sized bed in the center, adorned with plush pillows and a white quilted duvet with a beige throw blanket on the bottom half. A pair of armchairs were positioned near her armoire. Perhaps they were inherited along with the house. Vintage prints from what looked like Latin America and the Middle East covered the large wall opposite the bed. The window above the headboard was covered by thick white curtains. The room was a perfect reflection of her, cultured and elegant.

"Ros," He whispered, for no reason other than to say her name. He brushed his hands over her lower back, feeling the way her toned muscles moved. He rested them on her lace-covered bum and kissed her. He couldn't get enough of kissing this woman.

She smiled and pulled him to the mattress where they melted together. The wind picked up outside, howling noisily. He was so glad they were here, tangled in the warmth of each other. He urged her hips up so he could help her shed the last remaining piece of clothing between them.

"I don't have a condom," He whispered. It effectively slowed their momentum to consider this matter of practicality.

"I'm on the pill and I have a clean bill of health." She answered breathlessly. He trusted her more than anyone, and all the years he kept himself away from her overrode any remaining sense of caution. He settled between her legs and shuddered when she took him in hand, then into her body.

" _Fuck,"_ Ros moaned. The sound was the most decadent thing he'd heard-she was rarely profane. Gareth held himself as still as he could manage while inside her. Her hands clutched at his shoulders and she opened up her hips to welcome him deeper. He supported his weight on his forearms and bit his lip as he watched every little reaction as it flitted across her face.

He thrust experimentally, trying to gauge what made her feel good. His efforts were rewarded by the pulse of her achingly wet flesh around his cock, ripples of pleasure long denied to both of them by life's circumstances. It was a herculean effort to keep the rhythm he wanted. She practically writhed beneath him and sweat gathered at her brow, but she moved with him nonetheless.

"Gareth, _please."_ Her eyes were shut, mindless. He was almost as lost as she was. He could feel she wanted him to thrust harder, faster, but he knew that this teasing, leisurely pace would bring them both to the absolute height of bliss. Her nails dug into his back and her hips canted up to try to get more satisfying friction. In response, he balanced his weight on one forearm and brought his other hand down to press against her clit. The hitch of her breath told him she liked it so he moved his fingers in time with his hips.

It became a battle of wills, this slow dance of bodies. Of course it did, with two people as obstinate as them, who always tried to gain the upperhand in most life situations. He knew the longer they prolonged their release, the more powerful it would be and he wanted nothing more than to bring her the highest possible pleasure. At some point, Ros suddenly arched into him, breasts pressed against his chest with a cry. His patience was rewarded when she came, he struggled to keep on with his long, slow, measured movements when confronted with the force of her release.

"God," She choked out when she came back to herself. He was still hard inside her but he stopped moving to let her recover. He bent down for a kiss which she granted readily, hot, open-mouthed, undeniably bold. They carried on like this for a time before he felt her shift beneath him. He could tell she wanted him again. That was why he was surprised when she pushed firmly against his chest. He moved off and out of her, bereft without her heat, but she urged him to lie on his back. When he realised what she wanted, his pulse raced anew.

He watched as she took her place on top of him, aligning herself with his length and sinking carefully onto it. Now it was her turn to observe how he reacted to her movement. He wondered if she'd torture him as he did her, with a pace that would have him writhing in frustration. She kept a hand on his chest for balance and the other came up to caress her own breasts. The motion inspired a thrill of pure _want_ to run down his spine. His own hands traced paths up and down her slim thighs before they came to rest on her hips.

He finally tumbled headlong into an orgasm that left him gasping her name, she didn't protest when his movements became erratic and the multitude of building sensations sent him careening of the edge. She collapsed onto him and he wrapped his arms around her. He waited until they caught their breath before nudging her off so she could settle comfortably into his side. They managed to get under the duvet as the cool air chilled their sweaty bodies.

 _I love you._ The thought and the emotion that went with it stayed with him as he drifted off to sleep in her arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"I held an atlas in my lap and whispered

 _where does it hurt?_

It answered

 _everywhere_

 _everywhere_

 _everywhere."_

-Warsan Shire

* * *

When Gareth opened his eyes, he squinted in discomfort to find they'd forgotten to turn the lamp off. He carefully leaned over her sleeping form to switch it off. The morning light filtered in through the white curtains above their heads, a much more pleasant glow. It seemed the storm was over. Gareth indulged in the luxury of watching her sleep. He'd seen her angry, despairing, mischievous, concentrating, always in some state of forward motion. He'd seen her at the height of pleasure. Somehow, none of those times could compare to the way she looked now-wrapped up in the duvet, her breathing deep and calm.

He knew he couldn't get away with this for too much longer. Soon enough Ros cracked open a bleary eye. She yawned but turned away, putting the back of her hand to her mouth to cover it.

"Good morning." He whispered, loathe to disrupt the mood. He took his place beneath the duvet again so she didn't get cold. Ros smiled, sleepy and disheveled. A crease formed on her cheek overnight from a pillowcase pressing into it. His heart hurt to look at her-by then Gareth realised he was a maudlin fool.

"It is, isn't it?" She raised her arms above her head to stretch. She hummed in contentment, muscles tensing then relaxing when she lay on her side so they were face to face. He ran a delicate touch over the curve of her hip, settling his hand gently on her waist.

"How do you feel?"

"A bit sore." Ros admitted, "But happy. I'd forgotten what this is like." She looked right at him at that.

There was no containing the maudlin side of himself. Gareth kissed her, ignoring her attempts to dodge him. They were shaking with laughter when she finally escaped him.

"Both of us have had better breath, Gareth."

"Honestly, you are the only woman I know to be _so_ particular with dental hygiene."

Ros rolled her eyes and sat up, keeping the covers wrapped around her naked form. He relinquished his hold on her waist. "Maybe I'm trying to preserve the value of my kisses. Limit supply, increase demand." She looked mildly amused. She traced a playful line from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and stopped at his lips. He kissed the pad of her index finger before she drew her hand away.

Bantering with her this way was almost more indicative of their intimacy than their physical relationship. A thought suddenly occurred to him. One that'd been nagging at him from the back of his mind. He batted it away, unwilling to spoil their time together.

"Well it's working. Demand's never been higher." Gareth smirked suggestively at her.

She laughed outright. "God, we're so cheesy."

He made a noise of agreement then grunted as he sat up too. It caused the duvet to fall off the both of them. In the daylight, he could see everything he missed in the heat of the moment. She remained just where she was, without a hint of shyness about her nudity. She watched him, watching her.

The long column of her neck met her shoulders in perfect confluence. The spots where he kissed her were faintly red, and the memory of leaving those marks sent a slight tremor through him. Her torso was proportioned beautifully. The sight of her breasts was no less stirring than the night before and her stomach was toned as befitted an active field agent.

There were remnants of the toll her career took on her body too. He thought of his own body and the damage done to it over the years in comparison to hers. There was a pattern of scars on her oblique from what may have been a sutured wound at one point. Someday he hoped to learn all of her: every story behind her scars. He felt a moment of fleeting but intense grief for the pain each of them must have caused her.

The thought he'd been suppressing couldn't go unaddressed any longer.

"Ros, we need to talk about the future." Gareth said carefully. He fixed his gaze resolutely on her face. She leaned against the headboard and crossed her arms over her breasts but made no move to cover up despite the chilly morning air.

"Alright, let's talk. I presume what's troubling you is that you are British intelligence's most eminent regulator."

Gareth shouldn't have been surprised by how little effort it took for Ros to read him, yet he found he was.

"Whilst I'm an intelligence operative for one of the agencies you are bound by oath to investigate, should there be any hint of misconduct or unsavoury behaviour." She continued without any defensiveness.

"We'll have to...to be discreet. Going forward." Gareth cringed as the words left his mouth. She wasn't meant to be his dirty little secret. A sordid affair was the last thing he had in mind where she was concerned. If ever their association came to light, her professional objectives would likely be far more damaged than his own as a result. He told himself that secrecy was in her best interest. Not because it was an easy way to have his cake and eat it, too.

"Of course. This is who we are, you and I." Ros concurred. Even with her agreement, he couldn't help cursing himself. It was too easy of an out she gave him. He didn't deserve it. Especially not when she'd just essentially affirmed she wanted to see him again. On a recurring basis. That there would _be_ a future to look forward to with her.

Gareth wanted to tell her what he fell asleep thinking about. The words were stuck in his throat though, despite his maudlin streak he couldn't quite get them out. Some part of him still feared what she could do to him, given how much power she had.

Before he could add anything more, she slid off the bed and padded across the carpet to where he assumed the bath was. Consistent with her nonchalance about being naked in front of him, she moved as if nothing were amiss. The rest of her was just as beautiful as he knew it would be. She didn't completely shut the door but rather left it cracked open slightly. He could hear the sound of shower water hitting tile.

His mobile rang from somewhere on the floor where his trousers lay in a rumpled heap. Diving to fetch it, he answered it and brought it to his ear.

"This is Mallory." He barked. It was a Saturday morning after all.

" _I apologise for disturbing you, sir. I was instructed to call you by the staff director if there were any changes in the witness panel for Monday's hearing…"_

Gareth went back to the bed-Ros's bed-and burrowed back into the sheets. The voice in his ear was an intruder in this sacred space. He could smell Ros's shampoo among the pillowcases, subtle as it was, he was already attuned to it. He answered when appropriate, his chairman persona one that he could summon at the drop of a hat.

When she emerged from the bath, with damp hair and rosy cheeks, Gareth quite lost his ability to concentrate altogether. He ended the call abruptly when she sat on his side of the bed. She wore a white terry cloth robe and soft-looking sweatpants that peeked out from the bottom. The belt tied loosely about her. He was tempted to tug it open.

"I hope your idea of discretion evolves past taking work-related calls in here." Ros leaned in, eyes sultry. The scent of her shampoo, freshly washed, was the same scent he'd noticed on her pillows. It was dizzying up close, not quite cloying.

"It's a secure line." He hedged.

"You proposed your rule, now let me propose mine. No work, when we're together. Unless it's absolutely unavoidable."

She was close enough for him to catch the peppermint toothpaste on her breath. Dental hygiene freak indeed, he chuckled to himself.

"Agreed."

He thought she was about to kiss him when she suddenly moved out of his reach.

"The bath's free-it's your turn. I'm going downstairs to make breakfast."

He must have looked sound of her laughter trailed behind her as she darted out of the room, causing him to fall back on the bed in mock-exasperation.

When he made his way downstairs, his appetite roared to life at the mouth-watering aroma of a classic fry-up. Indeed, she'd somehow fixed two plates with generous portions of bacon, tomatoes, beans, sausages and eggs in the time it took him to have a shower and shave. Finding clothes to wear was a bit of an issue. She had a spare robe for him but he had to hunt for all of his discarded clothes, all the while remembering exactly how they got there.

He ended up wearing his trousers and dress shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He went to where he assumed she kept bread, in a metal bin near the fridge, and went about making them toast.

Ros poured two mugs of steaming hot coffee and took them to the same table where they ate last night. He waited until the toaster popped so he could pluck the warm bread out and hurry over to their plates to deposit them.

"You've done the cooking two meals in a row. Let me do it next time." Gareth said appreciatively as he spread marmalade onto his toast. Ros poured a splash of milk into her coffee and stirred. She offered him the cream but he declined, preferring his black.

Ros sipped at her coffee and cradled the mug between her palms. "Okay." She said simply. He risked a glance at her. She looked the same as when she admitted she was happy, there was that quiet glow of well-being that he'd never seen before.

"What did you have planned today?" He asked between bites. He truly was hungry, it didn't take him long to devour half his plate.

"Not much…" Ros seemed sheepish now. "I may have had a few things to take care of in the office."

Gareth sat back to fix her with a pointed look. "Hello pot? I'm kettle. And to think you were just scolding me about working on the weekend."

"Yeah, fair point." Ros inclined her head in acknowledgement. She took a bite of her eggs, chewed contemplatively and swallowed. "Old habits die hard. Then again, I probably don't have to tell you that. Everyday was a work day when I was in the field."

He finished the last of his coffee and put the empty mug next to his empty plate. "I've probably gained a stone since yesterday's dinner. Are you able to share what your current assignment is?"

Unlike him, Ros showed absolutely no shame about clearing her plate. For someone with no excess body fat, it was surprising how hearty of an eater she was.

"You're obviously cleared at the appropriate level. I suppose I can, but this has to be off record." She grew considerably more pensive. "There have been rising tensions between Pakistan and India recently, as I'm sure you've been briefed last week. When you saw us at the Cabinet Office, Harry and I'd just met with the Home Secretary to discuss what my team have determined to be the cause for those tensions."

"The threat of nuclear war between the two, definitely a nightmare scenario. What's your course of action?"

"The Home Secretary has invited the American Secretary of State, and the Pakistani and Indian presidents to a meeting at Chequers next week, for negotiations."

"And they've all just agreed?"

"Mudasser was the one we were most concerned about, considering he approved the seizure of an Indian nuclear submarine."

Gareth inhaled deeply and let the breath go. "How does MI-5 factor into the fray?"

"We've come across evidence of an intergovernmental cohort of sorts who have intentionally egged the Indians and Pakistanis on. I can't reveal my sources but they are credible." Ros bit off a small piece of bacon and chewed. After she swallowed, she said, "This..group, for lack of a better term, believes that nuclear war will alter the balance of power in their favor."

Gareth raised an eyebrow. "That's a very bold calculation to make."

"Yeah. You know what gets me is that all of these high-minded shadow organisations who are convinced they're gonna be the ones to do it, they all have overbearing names. _Nightingale_ was the name this one went with."

 _Nightingale._ He sensed this would be important to remember for the future.

"I hope your operation is successful next week." Gareth said. He caught her attention with his sudden seriousness. Their agreement to not discuss work lasted all of an hour, but how could anyone expect them to refrain? Being able to share secrets with a loved one was worth its weight in gold. Gareth felt that familiar squeeze about his heart when Ros smiled in response.

"You know, the Home Secretary sang your praises when he mentioned he was to meet you after us. Even hinted that a Cabinet office may not be too far off on your horizons."

He waved a dismissive hand. "There's only one person whose good graces I care for at the moment."

"Absolutely cheesy, I'm telling you…" She grumbled as she stood up to refill their coffee mugs.

From then on, he lived for weekends with her, holed up in her non-descript abode. Talking about their lives, their childhoods, families, even work sometimes. Both of them had histories, it was inevitable at their ages. It became essential to him without him noticing, the way one doesn't notice the world turning. It wasn't always possible, since both of them travelled frequently. It was worse when they were both in London but taking time apart for discretion's sake. Once they encountered each other at a session of the Joint Intelligence Committee. He could hardly recall another time when he'd struggled so hard to maintain an air of polite indifference.

One blustery afternoon, a single phone call in his office caused his blood to run cold.

" _Sir, we've just had confirmation from MI6's Section chief in Istanbul that they've had a breach."_

"Go on," He urged.

" _A hard drive with the identities of undercover NATO agents was stolen."_

"What's the scope?" He barely managed to ask, he could feel a vein throb in his forehead. The urge to turn the air blue with foul language would make him feel better but would hardly be constructive.

Silence. Then an intake of air, _"Worldwide, sir. All agents around the world on active cover."_

"Do we know who's responsible?" Gareth asked sharply. The PM would have their heads for this if they didn't know exactly what was happening.

" _Negative, but M has deployed her officers in pursuit of the thief. It's 007, sir."_

Gareth closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. It just kept getting better. Sending 007 after such sensitive equipment was like arming someone with a cricket bat to kill a barn mouse. He could only hope that the hard drive would survive the upcoming fight.

An acute sense of fear suddenly tore through him.

"Is it only NATO agents' identities on the hard drive?" Gareth's heart pounded. He was rooted to his chair, waiting for an answer he didn't think he had the stomach for.

" _Sir, it was also all MI-5 and MI-6 officers under active cover."_

"Fucking hell," He exclaimed, shooting up out of the chair. He said nothing further to the hapless staffer on the other end of the line, just concentrated on dialling the secure number he knew by heart. Seconds crawled by as he pressed his phone to his ear, listening to the endless ringing. He reached the generic voicemail greeting and hung up in frustration.

Ros was out of the country on official business, meaning she was using a cover. He wasn't privy to further detail but he knew she was working a lead on the Nightingale case. If 007 failed to retrieve the hard drive, hundreds of agents' lives were at immediate risk without the benefit of cover.

Gareth could only think of Ros.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes:** I've reworked the "retirement planning" scene in Skyfall where Mallory meets M for the first time. In this fic, they are both acquainted long before the events of the movie. I think it's reasonable to assume that the head of MI-6 and the Chairman of the ISC, who'd be a presiding MP presumably around for several years in order to earn that position, would know each other. In my opinion, it makes their interaction more meaningful when they spar verbally. Power plays and personal agendas on both sides galore! It's also fun to have an outsider react to finding out about the hush-hush relationship between Mallory and Ros. I took the majority of M's and Mallory's conversation from Skyfall itself, so the canon dialogue should be recognizable.

The main reason I'm writing this fic is for my own entertainment, although I would REALLY love you forever if you took some time to let me know what you think. Please, let me know I'm not just shouting into the void. ;)

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE**

" _I want to love but my hair smells of war and running and running."_

-Warsan Shire

"It's like being summoned to the headmaster's study." M bit out as she ascended the steps into the office building. Bill Tanner followed his boss closely.

"Standard procedure for the ISC, ma'am." The look of worry he wore suggested he was mentally preparing himself for the fireworks ahead. A meeting request from the Intelligence and Security Committee didn't bode well for M. The dust had barely cleared from the implosion of the Turkey operation. Only a total idiot wouldn't put two and two together.

"Bloody waste of my time's what I call it…"

The front office staff didn't slow their advance or ask them to sign in as they would for lower level visitors. The staff assistant did at least open the door leading to Chairman Gareth Mallory's office. Tanner knew that the meeting was to be private so he'd wait in the outer office until M had had enough. His boss entered the office and the door was pulled shut by the staff assistant, effectively blocking Tanner from listening.

M found the man standing at one of the tall windows that afforded a view of the street. Mallory was someone she could supposed it was the PM's way of politely showing her the door in getting Mallory to sack her. It was the circumstances that rankled: a deceased agent, a missing list of identities, the threat of publicised executions of intelligence assets. The PM was up in arms about the botched operation that cast the British intelligence community in sharp relief. If there was one thing M didn't care for, it was the judgment of politicians who wilfully misunderstood the nuances of her role.

"Mr. Mallory," M began with offering a handshake as he came around the two armchairs situated by the windows to greet her.

"M." The man released her hand after a perfectly timed moment and motioned for her to have a seat. She set her handbag on the floor and perched herself on the nearest chair, keeping her eyes trained on him as he moved about the room. Mallory wore all the bespoke trappings he was known for: an ironed cotton shirt of deep blue with a navy coloured tie and matching braces to ensure his grey trousers stayed put. He left his suit jacket off, perhaps a sign however unstudied, that she was a guest in his domain and therefore the traditional etiquette didn't matter. He was a bastion of old British bureaucracy, she thought with faint disdain.

He went to his desk where he had a decanter and single glass tumbler and proceeded to pour a small amount. She noticed he poured none for himself. The gesture was meant to be reassurance yet the fact that he had news to warrant a drink before noon was infuriating. M accepted the glass but let her hand rest in her lap. She had no intention of imbibing when she needed all her wits about her.

"I'm sorry to have to deal with such a delicate subject, in light of ongoing events. But I have to be frank with you." Mallory said. He took the seat opposite her and draped his long arms over the armrests.

"It would be a good idea." She responded lightly.

"The Prime Minister is concerned." He certainly knew how to put those blue eyes of his to use in staring her down. Now that the niceties were over, Mallory was keen to move onto business.

"Well, you can tell him my operatives are pursuing every avenue."

"Have you considered pulling out the agents?"

"I've considered every option."

"Forgive me if that sounds like an evasion."

"Forgive me, but why am I here?"

"Three months ago, you lost a computer drive containing the identity of almost every NATO agent embedded in terrorist organisations across the globe. A list which in the eyes of our allies never existed. So if you'll forgive me, I think you know why you're here." Mallory's tone grew stern. He would brook no dissent, it seemed.

"Are we to call this civilian oversight?" She asked with slight facetiousness.

"No, we're to call this retirement planning." It took a proper gentleman to manage a balance between sternness and iron-backed assertiveness. Mallory achieved it without trying. "Your country has only the highest respect for you and your many years of service. When your current posting is completed, you'll be awarded GCMG with full honours. Congratulations."

Even though M knew it was coming, it still felt like a knife thrust through her ribs. She sat, preternaturally calm. "You're firing me."

"No ma'am, I'm here to oversee the transition period leading to your voluntary retirement in two months' time. Your successor has yet to be appointed so we'll be asking you to-"

M could stomach no more of this politician's conciliatory speech. She stood abruptly, ready to end this exchange, and set the full tumbler back on the surface of Mallory's desk. "I'm not an idiot, Mallory. I know I can't do this job forever, but I'll be damned if I'm going to leave the department in worse shape than I found it."

He followed her lead and stood as well, bringing his hands to rest at his hips. Move and counter move. It was his turn to parry.

"I will do what I can to stave off the Prime Minister's panic. In return, I need to know that you're doing everything you can to protect your officers, present _and_ former. With all and any means at the service's disposal." Mallory's voice became hesitant. M knew it was a small and bitter victory that he would buy her time. The latter part of his statement struck her as odd.

"Our stations around the world are ready to provide all the necessary resources those agents need to return back to base. It's a matter of time before our officers and agents can get to safety. You have my word."

Mallory ran a hand over his face. He appeared increasingly worried-far more than he should be about firing an old woman from her post, M thought. There was more to this than met the eye. M was determined to find out exactly what it was. Before long, Mallory began to speak.

"The committee's had substantiated reports about a man named Faisal Helwani. He was an insider in the Assad regime in Syria. Disenchanted with his overlords, he agreed to provide key information to MI-6 in exchange for the promise of exfiltration to Britain. It turned out to be a very short lived agreement as his name was on that list and he was quickly arrested, tried and convicted of treason. Helwani was dragged into an alley and shot in the head for his alleged treachery. What will they do to the rest, with much stronger affiliations to the service?" Mallory's voice wavered, subtle as it was.

M was taken aback. The reason she respected Mallory was because he had a rational approach to often difficult issues and never lost his composure.

"What exactly are you asking me?" She fixed him with what she knew was her most pointed glare.

Neither of them backed down. She held his gaze for several seconds until he blinked. Despite knowing how much pride it cost him, M felt savage gratification that she had any sort of leverage against the push to oust her from her position.

"I lost an agent that day." M continued in the face of his stony silence. "Rest assured that our collective goal is to limit further loss of life."

Mallory bristled at that. M waited for him to respond, ready to push him further not only for the sake of this unexpected power play but also because she was genuinely curious as to what had him so distraught. At last, Mallory met her eyes.

"Someone...important to me may be in danger. Her life may be at risk."

M raised an eyebrow. "My, how the tables turn. We all have skin in the game, then."

"Rosalind Myers was deep undercover in the Middle East when that list went public. It's been four weeks of the most... awful silence." Every word was a struggle for him to get out. He left M to read between the lines. The man carried himself so still and upright that he could have been a statue. M understood with almost stinging clarity what he was imploring her to do. Some part of her couldn't help pitying the man.

Mallory and Rosalind. M supposed it wasn't very surprising at all. She knew her former 006 all too well, having taken her under her wing after recognising aspects of herself in the younger woman. After Sir Jocelyn Myers's fall from grace, M had to distance herself from Rosalind by necessity, not by choice.

Mallory's kindness was a rare quality-especially among people with whom Rosalind would associate in her professional life. He was a stalwart civil servant. In actual fact, Mallory was more of a relic than M was despite the twenty or so years she had on him. His preference for Savile Row suits, Courvoisier cognac and manner of speech were markedly old-fashioned. Of course Rosalind would be drawn to someone like him. She on the other hand was utterly good at her job and had a razor sharp wit that a man like Mallory could appreciate.

"Myers is no longer my agent. You should talk to Harry Pearce." She said, not without sympathy.

Mallory's eyes grew dark at that. "This was your blunder."

M supposed the grudging respect she held for him was reciprocated if he trusted her enough to let his guard down like this. Telling Harry Pearce what Mallory had just inadvertently revealed to her could be potential career suicide. They each had ammunition against the other but a silent pact existed between them to refrain from pulling the proverbial triggers.

"And I _will_ fix it. So let me do my job." M stressed.

Mallory exhaled roughly before nodding twice and looking away, trapped in the storm of his thoughts. M departed Whitehall with Tanner at her side. James Bond, Rosalind Myers, Faisal Helwani...victims of the world's most dangerous game. There was no time for remorse. M intended to right her wrongs and would only leave when the job was done.

* * *

Returning to his flat in Kensington held absolutely no appeal to him. It was the end of a very long, difficult week, topped by M's visit that morning and the ensuing conversation. Mallory immersed himself in work and his public responsibilities to drown out the white noise. In the silence of his flat, the white noise would drown him. So instead of stopping in his neighbourhood, he battled the weekend traffic out of the city and drove until he ended up on that familiar street in Hampstead. The red brick facade with the wall of curling ivy vines stood out among the other buildings, now that the ivy leaves had died in the winter chill.

He had a spare key to her place. He used it to let himself in, the sound of the lock clicking into place as he closed the door resounded through the hall. Four weeks after the list was hijacked, his waking mind refused to accept the possibility that Ros could be anything other than alive.

Mallory hadn't been able to bring himself to enter her bedroom. He would sit at the table in the kitchen nook, do paperwork, read, sometimes eat. He amassed quite a lot of his belongings here: clothing, personal care items, and the like. He knew it was stupid to relocate to hers because he was still alone even if half of his possessions were here as well.

Tonight, he climbed the staircase and gently pushed the door open. The scent of an unburned candle and her fragrance greeted him. Mallory walked into the darkness, wondering if this would drive him mad. He wondered how long he could keep it up-this grief that was not grief. Mourning for someone who could still be alive. It was unquestionable fact that Ros's occupation put her in danger. It was routine matter to officers of her seniority and experience. He reminded himself that she'd spent the better part of a decade in war zones and hardship posts. Gareth was well aware of the risks she took at a level of almost sickening detail. She'd have protocols and contingency plans if she was burned. Gareth found none of that to be any comfort. He was ashamed that he didn't notice how deeply her life had become enmeshed with his after such an astoundingly short time. He supposed they'd had years of buildup and the last month was the culmination of it all. How cruel that it should end this way, he couldn't help but think. Then he closed his eyes tightly and balled his hands into fists.

"She is alive." Gareth said, to no one. He removed his scarf, coat, and shoes. The duvet was freezing to the touch as he pulled it back and settled into his side of the bed. Hours passed and sleep evaded him as it hadn't in so long. This was their sanctuary. Every association he had with this room centered on the woman it belonged to. He realised this was a terrible idea. In the dark, his imagination taunted him with her image. Combined with real memories, Gareth's subconscious was unrelenting.

"She is alive and she's coming home." He whispered again, cold fingers pressing into the empty space beside him.

In the bitter cold morning, Gareth woke to the insistent vibration of his mobile. He shook off the haze of sleep to retrieve his phone from his coat pocket and check his messages. At the top of his inbox, there was an unread text from an unknown number. His hand trembled as he read the message.

' _Have faith. The songbird will sing no more.'_

The phone fell out of his nerveless hand and onto the bed. He refused to believe that anyone else would have sent that anonymous text. She was successful in bringing down Nightingale if he interpreted her message correctly. India and Pakistan would not obliterate each other and half the world in nuclear war. It was so much easier to believe what he'd told himself in the night. Ros was alive, and she was on her way home.


End file.
